


Packages in Zombie Zone, Area S

by Mad_Arid



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Dark, Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Horror, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Slow Build, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:44:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 108,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Arid/pseuds/Mad_Arid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Daryl Dixon hunts for a living. When he returns to the apartment, Merle is gone and there's this strange kid bugging the new next door neighbours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Times Have Changed

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I sadly do not own The Walking Dead. Beta'd by the awesome [mutantrentboy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mutantrentboy)  
>  **Spoilers:** References to Season 1 and 2.  
>  **Warning:** Rated for themes, language, and violence.
> 
> Hello and thanks for joining me on this crazy wonderful AU I've created for Daryl and Glenn. It's basically the walker apocalypse with a few major changes: the group never met and there's a giant wall surrounding Atlanta. This is a story about surviving and finding love in the walker apocalypse.
> 
>  
> 
> **AU HISTORY:**
> 
>  
> 
> After it happened, different Areas were created in order to maintain control. This story takes place in **Area S** , formerly the city of Atlanta and its surrounding towns and counties*. The three sectors of Area S include: Zombie Zone, The Clear, and beyond the Clear.
> 
> Because of the close proximity between people and large population, **The Old City** was overrun with walkers in the early days, causing many people to flee outwards. Although viewed as a safe haven for the urbanites, **the Burbs** were next to fall. To contain the walker threat, **The Wall** , a large metal fence, was placed to monitor those who travel in and out of the inner and most dangerous sector of Area S, **Zombie Zone**. **The Borderlands** is the outer most area of Zombie Zone and is just inside of the Wall. The Borderlands is seen as the safest from walkers in all of the Zone, but the safety amongst other people is questionable. Many people and their families managed to escape the Zone, however some were forced to stay. Due to fear of infection transmission, no one is allowed into the Clear without a permit.
> 
> When people reached the outer townships, far enough to avoid large groups of walkers, people believed that they were in the clear, hence the name of the new safezone in which the more fortunate live ( **The Clear** ).
> 
> Some people travelled **beyond the Clear** , preferring to live away from others, while others left Area S completely. Due to poor communication, not much is known about living beyond the Clear nor the other Areas.
> 
> Daryl Dixon, although originally from beyond the Clear, travelled with Merle to reach Atlanta. After realizing the city fell, Daryl rented a small apartment for Merle to stay and where he could return after various hunting jobs. However, Merle came and went as he pleased, often leading Daryl to wonder what his brother was up to.
> 
> (Think of it as a target. The inner aspect, or the bullseye, is the Old City. The Old City is encircled by the Burbs, then the Borderlands, and then the Wall—these rings make up Zombie Zone, the innermost sector of Area S. The next sector, the Clear, encircles Zombie Zone. Finally, beyond the Clear is the last and outermost part of Area S.)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **KEY PLACES OF NOTE:**
> 
>  
> 
> **Beyond the Clear**  
>  \- The Farm  
> \- Hilltop Cabin  
>  **The Clear**  
>  \- The Hunter’s Helm – a trading centre where people barter and take on hunting jobs  
> \- The Police Station  
> \- Clear Neighbourhood – where Clear residents live  
> \- The Broken Building – just outside the Wall  
> \- Apartment – across the street from the broken building, it seems like someone lives here  
>  **Zombie Zone**  
>  _The Wall_  
>  \- The Gate – a guarded entrance built into the Wall between Zombie Zone and the Clear  
>  _The Borderlands_  
>  \- The Domino Block – a six building complex where Daryl resides  
> \- The Tavern – a local pub/bar  
>  _The Burbs_  
>  \- The Boarded House – a house boarded by planks of wood  
> \- Burbs Housing Complex  
> \- The Warehouse  
> \- The Hospital  
>  _The Old City_  
>  \- The Apartment  
> \- Haven
> 
>  
> 
> *Please note that I have no knowledge of the actual region so I took the liberty of making all of this up because this is an AU :D

The floorboards creaked, each stair aching under the weight of heavy boots and the man in them. Muddy footprints traced his path past the facedown welcome mat, underneath the dingy front door, through the tight hallway, the cluttered cans scattered throughout the tiny kitchen, into the little bedroom and stopped at the foot of a broken old mattress. The sheets were straighter than he remembered.

His bag clunked heavily onto the floor, its contents rattling inside. He carefully hung his bow onto a makeshift hook comprised of a nail and a hole in the wall. He peeled off his dirty shirt and carelessly tossed it aside before he pushed his belt-buckled pants downwards. His needy cock flopped heavily between his legs, untouched, noticed, but wilfully ignored.

He grumbled loudly before crashing onto the bed, not caring how high his paper-thin curtains were. He peered over and luckily for him, they only let in a tiny slit of air. The room was cold. He cursed after he realized he forgot to close the window before the last time he left the apartment. The grimy Borderlands air infiltrated whatever sanctity was left in his so-called living quarters, penetrating the sagging wallpaper and crumpled bed sheets. The wind carried death with it. Dried old raindrops and suspicious gunk festered beneath the open windows.

But the hunter paid little attention to his surroundings. This was only temporary. He'd be contacted soon enough and have no reason to stay in this shithole any longer than a few more days.

He flopped his body onto the mattress. It creaked loudly from the sudden weight, warning him that it may possibly break.  _It's been a while, Daryl_ , it whispered under the man, who murmurs into the pitiful pillow. It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

An anguished groan startled Daryl awake. Immediately, he reached for his waist, only to remember he was naked, that his knife wasn't on him, that he was in that room he pays rent for but rarely uses. He rubbed his forehead and applied pressure in a circular motion.

Silently, he made his way to the side of his window. He peered through the paper curtains and saw a small pack trudging its way down a far off street.

A piercing scream!

He slowly closed his eyes, lowered the curtains, and brought himself back to bed. Daryl groaned against the rough fabric, closed his eyes, and tried to readjust himself to the funky smells, the dark gloomy skies, and the constantly moping people. Just another day in what was the great city of Atlanta.

Welcome back to Zombie Zone, Area S.

* * *

The morning began with Daryl rummaging through the pitiful stockpile in the kitchen cupboards. Three cans of beans, one expired container of collard greens, and one of syrupy peaches sat behind the sagging wooden flaps, covered in dust. Small circles illustrated where other cans once were.

His lips quirked at a small roll he didn't remember leaving there. Ignoring the metal tins, he reached for the paper roll, placed it between his lips and scoured his apartment for a match. But when he realized things had been moved around, he scoured his secret compartments. There was nothing behind the toilet, nothing hidden in his mattress, nothing in the hole he made under the stove. Empty.

"Merle."

He immediately dropped the roll and stomped towards the other room down the hall. Cleaned out. Empty. What else could be gone? Daryl furiously rifled through his belongings, his weapons, his food, his bullets, and opened each and every hidden compartment and crevice, counting the supplies he had left.

He peered out the window, grim light shining through the tattered blinds, and noticed what most others wouldn't be able to from a similar distance: bloody streaks, strands of hair, and a flattened bag. All of which indicated someone had been dragged away against their will. On another street, there was a child running around, chasing a ball. In an alley, a cat screeched, trapped between two figures closing in and a tall brick wall. No sign of Merle anywhere.

He slid under the bed once more, wiping the floor of dust, debris, and who knows what else gathered there since he last left a few months ago. Daryl reached into his mattress, stretching his arms around, feeling for that tiny ass piece of paper he regrets shoving up there. Something soft squished in his grasp. He made a face, but continued the search. And there it was.

Daryl retrieved the slip from the dirty mattress and exhales, relieved. On it were thin fading lines, a map, telling him to the lair of the Eye. He'd visit the old bag soon enough. That way he'd get a better sense of how much this place changed.

Or so he thought.

* * *

Daryl grabbed his bag, filling it with a half-full canteen, a tin of corn that probably expired a few months ago, a dried piece of meat; extra arrows he carved himself from a tiny branch, a few blades he picked up along the way, a magazine or two he took off some rowdy targets; and a worn-out transceiver he obtained from a dead cop.

He swung the bag over his shoulder, his crossbow over the other. He quickly scanned the room before he set out his front door once again. However, this time he would return within at least a couple of days. Daryl slid the key into his front door and turned the lock, giving the knob a few shakes before he turned towards the stairs.

The apartment he used was in the middle of the hall. Of the four rooms on the floor, it was the second closest to the stairs. If anything happened, he'd have a better chance of escaping than the depressed man at the end of the hall, who always screamed in the middle of the night, calling out to his long lost family, or the fat asshole and his timid wife. They had a daughter, or so Daryl thought.

The floor creaked with each of his steps. The dreary wallpaper sagged, making Daryl wonder if the landlord died and a new one was appointed. The room before the stairs was the largest one on the level. Although Daryl had never seen the lodger, he doesn't feel right each time he passes underneath the dead light bulb beside that room.

A seemingly small figure stood before that very room, knocking on the door in a brisk rhythm. The person tapped their foot, repeatedly, rushed.  _Nervous_. Daryl stopped moving and took in the sight. It's a kid in an oversized shirt; jeans ripped at the knees, tattered at the leg holes; a small green knapsack that bulged, overstuffed; and a tiny baseball cap, covering his face. He had a large box balancing on the palm on an outstretched hand.

"I've got the stuff!" The kid yelled before he shoved the cardboard box in his hand in front of the door's peephole.

The door opened swiftly. Daryl barely had the time to register the hairy fist that grabbed the kid's shirt before he was yanked into the room. The kid meeped and probably fell face first onto the floor. Thump. A loud thud echoed in the hall when the door slammed shut.

The hunter shook his head at the thought of the boy. Damn, times have changed. Daryl groaned, grabbed his package and moved it up before he trudged his way down the moaning stairs. But he stopped on the first step and looked at the door behind him. He furrowed his brows and wondered how much he'd have to pay. Times have changed indeed.

* * *

He shoved his rent, a bundle of salted game, into the metal slot in the landlord's door before knocking on it four times.

"Took you long enough!" was the reply. "Next time you're late you won't have a room anymore!"

An empty threat. Barely anyone could afford the rent as it was. Though it was expensive, the rent covered heating, food, running water, security around the clock, and a landlord who didn't ask questions. The four-story building in which he resided had two others beside it and another at its rear, six buildings in all. Aside from the front entrance, he was well protected. The buildings were cramped, close enough one could go into another using a window if they were extremely skilled—or had a ladder.

Daryl passed the complex's fence. He nodded at the guard standing at the fence entrance. He didn't get one in return.

He followed the map through the empty streets. The sun beat down heavily onto the cracked pavement. Children sat underneath the shade of broken down buildings. A few women stood on one particular street corner, some men in an alley down the road. A pitiful old prune reached out to touch Daryl's leg. He lifted it away before the grimy hands could touch him.

A hoarse whisper escaped its mouth, "Please."

It's eyes showed hope, a will to live. But Daryl had no time and no pity for this man or woman or whatever it was lying there with their guts pouring out, bleeding profusely onto the dry cracked pavement. He heard a groan in the distance. He walked.

The map was troublesome enough to decipher since he didn't live in the Zone before it all happened, but the recent changes confuse Daryl. Where there was supposed to be a statue, there was a pile of rubble; a muddy path replaced a tiny patch of forest; the peace signs on a building had been sprayed over with hateful graffiti. Has he really been gone this long?

He passed the Wall, a large metal fence separating the two distinct sectors of Area S. Encircled by the Wall, Zombie Zone was considered to be highly dangerous—even though walker activity is minimal during the day. Deep inside of the Zone, stood the Borderlands, the Burbs, and what was left of the Old City, rumoured to house unruly heathens, rapists, and murderers. The guards eyed him warily.

"You're in the Clear," one of them stated.

The Clear, inhabited by the rich and powerful, is the desired goal of many. Although many flooded to the Clear for haven, the hired guns push the riff raff back through the fence or kill them before every sunset. Then again, it's rumoured that things happen behind Clear doors that even the strongest stomachs couldn't handle. Daryl never decided whether the Wall was to keep the crazies inside or out.

A couple of men in sheriff hats moved towards Daryl, guns in hand. They asked if he'd seen a masked figure recently. The one with short brown hair and bulging biceps stepped forward.

"My buddy got shot. Need all the leads I can get," the rough voice demanded before a hand was placed on a holstered gun.

Daryl shook his head and tugged his crossbow higher up his back. He didn't see anything like that. "Just got back into town. Didn't see nothin' out of the ordinary."

The cop's grip on his gun's hilt tightened. "You sayin' masked creeps ain't normal?"

"Isn't uncommon. That's all."

"Where've you been?" the sheriff asked. "Isn't safe to be wandering outside the Clear."

Daryl replied briskly, "Huntin'."

"What's your game?"

"Meat and meatbags."

"Well, if you hear anything let us know down at the station." The sheriff grabbed his belt buckle and sauntered off, his cohort in tow.

* * *

As he followed the map, Daryl saw clean houses, complete with pleasant yards and outlined properties; blooming green grass, a few trees with leaves still on them; semi-happy children playing with a ball; and nestled close to the wall, far from the supposed utopia was the functioning underground trade centre, the Hunter's Helm.

Signs were plastered along the walls with a variety of rewards ranging from technology, batteries, weaponry, and permanent bedfellows. One sign requested a female cow in exchange for a young child, another offered a case of food for retrieving a missing girl, while another asked for headphones for small pistol with no bullets. Many old, outdated signs wanted their lands cleared of the walking dead, offering rewards galore.

A blonde waved him over from a booth to the side. "Hey, Dixon!"

She smiled from underneath the makeshift metal booth fashioned from pipes and car parts. A sign hung above her, rusty but painted anew.  _Fishin' for Gold_. Daryl nodded at the young girl, clad in a skimpy suit, revealing far more than she should in a place like the Helm. She's pretty young, but the many scars on her face and arms showed she'd been through more than most others her age. A short distance away, leaning on a shoddy wooden pole, was a man who stood staring, tongue poking between his lips.

"It's been a while. Thought you'd gotten lost out there." She laughed. "Had to give a few jobs away."

"Things are different here. Feels different from when I left. Somethin's up."

"Really? I don't see anything out of the ordinary."

Daryl eyed a shady stall a few booths down. It was at the end of the row, at the corner of the building. A large group of people were yelling in front of it, practically throwing their money at the vendor. A dented metal sign hung above the stall, bright and colourful from spray paint. The graffiti changed the original logo and name. Where the spaceship used to be was now a rotting walker.  _Zombie Zone Express_ , it read.

"Opened up a few weeks ago. They run things in and out the Borderlands and the Old City."

"Where's your sister?"

"Out there somewhere helping someone in need. Or something like that. You know how she is." She shrugged before resting her elbows on her booth. "What are you in the market for? Missing person? Missing dead? Game or guts?"

"Lookin' for the Eye. Is he still here?" He pulled the map from his bag and handed it over.

She unfolded the paper, looked, and laughed lightly. "Well, he's moved to the Zone! He says being in the Clear isn't too safe for the likes of him, got this weird vibe. He ended up moving in an apartment complex in the Borderlands. Andrea and I should be tagging along and moving there sometime soon."

Daryl was taken by surprise. "Any idea which one?"

"Yeah, the one beside the old broken statue. I think it's called Domino Block. You know, the six buildings with the tiny mesh fence?"

"You're kiddin' me."

"Nope, that's the one. Why do you ask, something the matter?" Daryl shook his head, nothing at all. "His RV is parked out back of the one he moved in. Third floor up. That all I can do for you?"

"Here," Daryl said. He reached into his bag, pulled out a metal ring, and placed it on her table.

Amy picked up the ring, raising it up high, turning it around to get closer looks at it. She frowned, sighing before she placed it in her pocket.

"That's the one. She won't be happy with just the ring but I'll get you your compensation the next time you visit." He turned around and took a step towards the exit but her voice stopped him. "How'd you find him?"

"Troublesome."

"That's too bad," she murmured, staring at the ring under the dim flickering lights and scratching her breast. "I'll let her know."

He continued to walk, but stopped to offer a warning, "Don't walk home alone."

* * *

The sun began to set when Daryl reached the fence back to the Zone. The main gate was closed, so Daryl grudgingly made his way a few blocks west. People scurried around him, hushing and rushing each other towards their homes.

"It's not safe here."

"Hurry up!"

"Time to leave, honey."

"I hear there's a new gang in the Old City that takes kids at night."

The streets emptied of Clears within a minute. From a distance, a line of men with guns were walking towards the fence, threatening to fire, unless Zoners somehow moved back across the Wall. But that didn't seem to faze him. Daryl shrugged his shoulders, shifting his crossbow higher up his bag. He reached behind him to grab his near-empty canteen and took a swig. He eyed the fence and noticed a few walkers moaning his way.

A piercing screech echoed loudly around him. His head perked with anticipation then removed his crossbow from his shoulder. With lightness in his step, he jogged quickly behind an old rundown building as he armed his weapon.

He took a step inside, string loaded, ready to fire. Daryl silently edged his way deeper into the structure. His breaths became slow and deep, his senses heightened. Foot after foot, he aimed into each doorway, swung around furniture, and ducked behind walls. After searching most of the main level, he decided on a room with a window leading to an empty alley. He blocked two doors with tall shelves and bulky couches before he let his shoulders relax.

He groaned lightly when his ass hit the cold dirty floor. Reaching into his bag, he found the can of expired corn and peeled it open. He bent the lid and used it to scoop the syrupy sweet kernels. When he reached the bottom of the can, he raised it high and began devouring the sweet liquid. A small stream escaped his mouth and he wiped it with the back of his fist.

To his right was a broken couch that could have provided comfort for those awaiting whatever service the building's previous owners provided. There was a broken mirror in the corner and underneath a large shard of glass stained with red fingerprints and dried blood. Daryl glanced over the empty cans of food in the corner swarmed with maggots before turning away in disgust. Other than that, the room was surprisingly clean.

His eyes were closed and he appeared calm, but the gritting teeth told more. He loosened his belt and placed his crossbow a short distance away. A hand slid down his zipper then into his pants. After a few pumps, he managed to rouse his cock. His member stirred from its long slumber, its aching need left untended for weeks. He closed his eyes and sighed.

* * *

The shivers dancing across his skin sent Daryl shuddering. A sound came from behind one of the doors, as if someone was trying to kick it down. He opened his eyes wide, alert, before he launched out to grab his crossbow. He shook his head, taking in where he was. It took a second, but he realized he was in the run-down building nearby the hole in the Wall. It's dark, meaning night, possibly early morning. He sighed, knowing the shelves would hold off whatever was on the other side of those doors.

He chewed off a piece of his dried meat and sat on the couch. He felt something hard beneath him. The knife he carried sliced through the faux leather fabric, allowing him access to whatever was hiding underneath. After pushing some puff balls aside, he saw a trove of food. He grabbed a tin of sausages from the pile, lied down, and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the can.

A juicy piece of what was supposedly meat entered his mouth. A few bites, and he began to salivate for more. He set off to finish the can before preparing to leave, but the huffing and heaving coming from outside garnered his attention.

Daryl raised his crossbow and steadily moved towards the window. He leaned in slightly to get a better view of the alley. Nothing coming from the Clear. He ducked under the window and peered down the other end.

A dark silhouette stepped lightly, dodging dumpsters and debris, dashing madly from the groans following slowly behind. He passed the window and Daryl switched sides once again. The figure raised a hand to the building Daryl was in and stopped to catch his breath, unaware they were being watched. Daryl tried to get a closer look at the person, wondering what kind of idiot would be making their way out of the Zone this time of night.

He only saw a small knapsack strapped to the person's back. Their head was hard to see, their arms dark from the light, their shoes covered in grime, but that ass under the moonlight indicated he was male. Daryl gulped slowly, watching the figure bend over to possibly tie a shoelace. He couldn't see the face from this angle nor did he really care.

When he heard a moan closing in, Daryl unlocked the window and aimed his bolt at the walker's head. But pipes and broken stairs attached to the buildings hung in his way, so he aimed, he released, and he made contact, his bolt breaking through his target's patella, shattering it with a quick pierce. It stumbled and clunked heavily onto the cement and Daryl sighed. It reached out from the ground, struggling to grab its escaping meal.

"Hey, dumbass! Yeah, you holed up in my room!"

Daryl turned his gaze towards the man who was pointing a finger, then the finger at him.

"Thanks, but no thanks!"

Then the man sped off, zigzagging his way out of the alley, probably worried about getting an arrow to the knee.


	2. Paying the Price

The bright light invaded the room, warming Daryl and waking him from his light sleep. The sun had just risen. He peered down the alley and noticed entrails tracing a walker's path. The one he shot last night was making its way towards the street dragging itself, which resulted in peeled skin—or whatever the hell you'd call that now—leaving its rotten guts scraped across the blacktop.

Daryl quickly searched the room, lifting the couch cushions, only to find another secret stash of food, at least twenty cans of meat and vegetables, a few canisters of soup, some fruit preserves, and a whole case of root beer; moving a picture frame to discover a music player with earphones; and seeing a small machete strapped to the back of the shelf. Whoever this man was, he was prepared, calculated, and ready to survive.

Daryl grabbed a can, shoved it into his bag mindlessly. But when he reached out to grab the rest, he stopped and sighed, only taking just one can. He zipped it shut, strapped it onto his back and looked out the alleyway. It was empty—for now. After he moved the shelves away from the doors, Daryl loaded his bow once more and slowly made his way out of the building.

He rounded out back, noticing the walker had almost made its way out of the alley. He aimed for the head. The second death surely must be less painful than the first. The body felt soft under his thick boots, but he stepped on the body hard regardless before pulling out both arrows. He wiped them clean with a cloth then returned them to his holster.

Daryl made his way through the small hole in the fence he discovered a few months ago, an easy unguarded way between the Zone and the Clear that hardly anyone knew about. With a large toss, his bag and bow landed on the earth softly on the other size. He got to the ground and squeezed in the tight gap, dirtying his backside.

Dust flied when Daryl began to pat himself down. He rubbed his behind only to frown at the amount of dirt his pants collected. He wiped them on his knees before scratching his balls through the thick layers of cloth. A loud curse escaped his mouth when he felt the small white splotches by his zipper. To cover himself up, he loosened his shirt, letting it hang freely in front of his waist.

After a few hours, he reached the small mesh fence encircling the Domino Block. There were twelve lookout posts, four pairs towering at each corner and a pair on each side. At the gate, a familiar face called out.

"Back so soon?" Theo asked. "Heard you just left yesterday."

"Quick trip. Wanted to check somethin' out." Daryl crossed his arms.

"Find what you were looking for?"

"Naw."

"That's too bad man. Hey, if you want, I'm meeting a few guys at a pub later tonight?"

Daryl shrugged goodbye.

* * *

Daryl walked past the entrance and headed towards the passageways behind the buildings. He passed his and noticed a blonde girl poke a ball with a stick. She sat on the dirt, skimpy knees huddled closely to her chest. An older teen spoke to her but she remained silent, pushing the ball back and forth. Frustrated, the teen walked away, hands stuffed in her pockets, mumbling incoherently, her oversized boots clopping.

Judging from where the RV was parked, Daryl discovered that the Eye had actually moved in—the building was directly behind his. He frowned.

He made his way around the building before trekking his way inside. Only a step onto the third floor, Daryl growled at the back of his throat and slammed his fist on the wall. He'd forgotten to ask which room the Eye moved into. He took in a deep breath, raised his sagging pants higher up his waist, and proceeded to knock on each one.

The first door housed a small Latin family. The father was a burly man, the mother meek and timid. Annoyed, the man asked what Daryl wanted and threatened to slam the door in his face. But as soon as their children hounded the door, cheering and giggling loudly, Daryl pulled the door shut himself.

The second room belonged to another family hailing from the Old City. Twin boys opened the door, one picking his nose, the other making obnoxious faces. To the boys' disappointment, Daryl walked away without reacting.

_Two doors left._

When he reached the third apartment, Daryl became impatient. He pounded on the door heavily with his fist.

"Get your ass out here, old man! We need to talk!"

"Hold your horses!" came the cry from the other side of the door. "Let me pull my pants on at least!" Daryl shook his head, mouth twitching in disgust, but continued to bang away at the wooden door, glad he'd gotten it right this time. The door opened slightly and a pale round face appeared, covered with a white beard and a silly-looking hat; with sagging skin that probably could catch rain; and with wrinkles that apparently displayed wisdom beyond his years—or perhaps showed that this man lived too long for his own good. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk." Daryl stated, pushing the door open with the palm of his hand. He stepped into the apartment of the Eye. It was nice, quaint even. He saw a couch, a small box to store food, two bedrooms, and a working toilet.

"Well, go on ahead." The old man raised his arms high. "Make yourself welcome. By all means."

Daryl strode toward the window, pausing to take a look outside, his arms crossed tightly, biceps bulging.

"Well?"

"Well what?" the old man asked, confused.

"Why'd you move? Didn't think your type would like it out here."

Daryl's eyes examined the alley. Garbage and open bags were strewn around. One of the dumpsters appeared to have recently been inhabited by animals. Raccoons perhaps.

"People are lusting for power. It won't be long before they start enforcing their strength over others. I can see it coming. So I thought it would be best to leave the Clear quietly while it's still safe. Things have changed since you last left, Daryl."

"What about that new Express stall?"

Outside, the girl was gone but the ball remained, rolling back and forth slowly. Theo stood—or rather sat guard—at the main entrance with a shotgun resting on his knee, staring at the sky.

"The new one at the end of the row from Amy's?" he asked. Daryl nodded. "I haven't heard, but something about it doesn't feel right."

"Barbie said they bring things in and out of the Old City. I'm assumin' you told her that?"

"That's all I know about them."

He saw his window, covered with the thin-ass paper blinds that he noticed, didn't really shield him from prying eyes. Daryl squinted and noticed something moving, a shadow, or perhaps someone, in the room he often slept in.

Daryl huffed, taking his eyes away from the window, and focused on the man in front of him. "Seen Merle recently?"

"No. But I hear he's around." Daryl made his way to the door, ready to leave, but was stopped by a warning from the man who apparently knew everything. "There's been talk about a large group of walkers outside the Clear. Haven't heard any news from Area T in a while. D—"

"That's too bad, old man."

And he left.

* * *

Daryl entered the building he lived in, bow loaded but knife in hand, ready for whoever was rummaging around in his room. The corner of his lips quirked when he reached the top of the stairs. Being pushed out the door was the same guy from yesterday with his tattered jeans that fit real nice, bright red kicks, somewhat irritating baseball cap, and unwavering air of innocence. The boy from Room 201.

The door slammed behind him, its thud echoing down the hall. He looked confused with his sudden departure, sighing in what seemed to be defeat. He briskly wiped his hands on his jeans and turned to face Daryl, who was blocking the stairs.

"Hey, I don't mean to be rude, but I need to go that way," the kid said, pointing at the stairs. He moved his head around, trying to look around Daryl, searching for a way around him, searching for an exit.

"How much?" Daryl asked sternly.

"How much what?" He blinked, confused.

They stood, staring at each other. Daryl sizing the kid up, the kid looking thoughtfully at Daryl. Daryl gulped and realized he was staring when a crashing sound echoed from down the hall. Something shattered, possibly a shelf or a desk. Maybe a bone or two.

"Nevermind, kid."

Daryl attempted to grasp his shoulder and push him aside, but the kid was quick, nimble. He dodged the oncoming hand and practically flew down the flight of stairs, jumping the last few steps before rounding the corner and fleeing to the level below. He didn't look back at Daryl, who stood there shocked, watching him escape.

Daryl humphed and turned towards his door. He slid in his key and noticed the fat balding man coming his way. The man grumbled, trying to roar threateningly when he passed. Daryl put a hand on his knife but released his grip when the man was halfway down the stairs.

After a quick search of his apartment, Daryl discovered that no one was in his room and that his supply of food was somehow dwindling.

* * *

He woke up covered in sweat. His was skin all too warm, his hair sticking to his face, and his sheets were soaked. He shook his head and knocked it with his fist a couple of times before he peeled his covers off his abdomen. He cursed, ripping off his sheets before trying to will himself to sleep. He heard arguments from the other side of thin walls as per usual.

Daryl stared at his ceiling until the sun rose, his package undelivered.

* * *

Daryl lugged his bag to a small tavern a few blocks away from his Borderlands apartment. He sat at the bar, waved a waitress over for a pint and something to eat, and clasped his hands. His bag stayed strapped on his back, his crossbow never left his side.

"Here ya go, sugar." The waitress placed a glass mug in front of Daryl, gave him a wink, and slipped off to the back, hips sashaying to the beat of clunking heels.

He stayed where he was and sniffed the concoction bubbling before him. He took a small gulp, testing the ale. Murmuring to himself, Daryl swallowed it, "Not bad."

"Dixon."

Daryl turned when he heard his name. Behind him was a rifle-toting Andrea with a smug look on her face, grin shining from underneath the brim of her hat. Her hair was stringier than when he saw her last. And that rifle. Where'd she get that?

"Yeah? What?"

"Heard you were looking for me." She smiled.

"Was lookin' for the Eye," he said, turning back to his drink. "Your sis told you wrong."

She used her foot to pull the stool beside him forward before sitting on it. The fabric sunk underneath her weight.

"Well, she said you asked about me." She leaned her elbow on the shoddy wood bar top, angling her head towards him.

"She shouldn't be running the stall by herself." He took a deep swig. "Especially in that place. Guys are starin' at her as if she was a rack of babyback ribs. Sweet ass barbecue."

"Don't tell me how to raise my sister!" she raised her voice. Staring at Daryl, daring him to look at her face, she pressed her lips thin, searching his face for a reaction.

"Don't tell me I said things I didn't say," he said calmly, eyes fixated on his half-empty glass.

The waitress returned, surprised to see an outraged Andrea sitting beside a comfortable Daryl. She made her way towards them, carefully placing an unappetizing plate of what seemed to be venison in front of Daryl. The waitress opened her mouth but ended up returning to the kitchen with her words unsaid, her flirting needs deprived.

Daryl and Andrea remained silent, the latter staring decisively—until her bowels cried for nourishment. Daryl looked at her belly. She covered it up with her hands and turned her stool around, looking away from the hunter. He shoved the plate in her direction.

"Saw a guy with a pizza box the other day," Daryl said. Andrea quirked her brow. "Any idea where I can find some? Got a cravin'."

* * *

The shack appeared as if it would fall apart any second. It stood lonely in a dry patch of land a few miles west of the Domino Block, just outside of the Old City. Daryl sauntered up to the rotting door and knocked slowly, softly, in case it might fall down.

Unsurprisingly, the door creaked open. He eyed it warily, taking a few steps back before looking at his surroundings. Not one body—dead or alive—was in sight. A gust of wind blew by, rustling a few leaves off the dead trees on the border of the property. The dry grass scattered throughout the dirt swayed, bending with the wind.

"Hello?" Daryl knocked, pushing the door open.

A call came from somewhere in the shack, echoing within the thin walls. "What do you want?"

Daryl replied, "Want a slice. Heard I could get one here."

"Hands off your bow." He listened. "Step inside, arms high. No funny stuff, you hear?"

He nodded, slowly walking into the building. Although he tried to tread lightly, each step generated a loud creak. The air felt heavy, dirty, and stagnant—as if it hasn't left the building in ages. He caught a cough in his throat and forced himself to hold it in. To his left was a broken family portrait. To his right was a string of webs hanging from the ceiling, slightly moving when he passed them by. Dust gathered on the floor, with slightly discernable footprints of different sizes, scuff marks here and there.

Shoulders unintentionally relaxed when Daryl saw an old woman on a rocking chair, a bandana covering her mouth.

"Hands up high, mister." She analyzed Daryl, brows furrowed, lips closed tight, and held her gun aimed at his gut. Daryl sighed, arms slightly swaying above him, but he steadied himself quickly. "What do you want?"

"What's on the menu?"

"Whatever we can find. It's not easy getting any nowadays."

"What do you want for it?"

"You look like a tough guy and your bow's pretty fancy. How about you bring me a bunch of meat, enough to last me a week, and I'll get you somethin' good in return. The best slice this side of the apocalypse." Daryl looked unamused. "I'll even get it delivered to your doorstep. No questions asked." The lady smiled when his frown faltered and continued to talk. "I like rabbits but if you can't find any…"

* * *

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tight, thumbs twiddling. The bags under his eyes weighed heavily. He yawned, exhausted. His elbows grew weary even though they were resting on his knees. Behind the bed was a tally scratched lightly into the wall, nine lines in total. Though the wood of Room 201's door was wearing thin due to all the knocking from various visitors, including the boy with the box, Daryl's was left alone.

The kitchen cupboards were bleak, emptying slowly. There were a few pounds of recently dried meat hidden behind a secret compartment. Only one can of beans and the expired container of collard greens remained. Though he saw the kid come and go often, his door was never the one that was visited. Daryl reached for a strip of rabbit, chewing it down, his tastebuds unsatisfied.

The cold wind blew into the bedroom. It felt brisk, slightly sharp. He shook his head, focusing on his fingers. Although the glass was whole, the window somehow became loose, allowing many droplets and chilly air inside. A small rag stood beneath the crevice. It became saturated enough that it began to fail to absorb the onslaught of rain that came down, resulting in a puddle forming around the rag. The festering gunk welcomed the water with a gassy sigh.

It was the knocks from the door that forced Daryl to shoot straight up, alert.

"I've got the stuff!" was the call from the other end.

Daryl rose immediately. He ironed his shirt with his hands, pulled up his pants, and strode to his front door, kicking the empty cans and clutter on the floor off to the side as he went. Unfortunately, his door's peephole was broken. So when he reached the door he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and grabbed the handle, not sure if he was ready for what was on the other side.

He swung the door open only to see the little girl, the one always sitting in the alley prodding her ball with a stick. She had a thin build, was as skinny as one of those anorexic models you used to see before. A band held her hair in place, a doll was strapped to her waist. He stared at her, hard. But she didn't flinch. He poked his head out into the hallway, scanning both ends. Just them.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She brought her hands forward in a receiving manner and stood there, waiting. Daryl analyzed her posture, her gesture, her face, and her body. Her breath was hoarse, her skin dry.

"Can't your parents feed you?" he growled lightly.

Daryl leaned in, staring her down. He grunted but she remained quiet, steadfast, her arms unwavering in the air. Her expression was dull, her posture lethargic, exhausted. She only flinched when a crashing sound came from the apartment beside Daryl's.

Daryl slammed the door in her face.

He returned. After opening the door quickly to shove the cans of dried beans and expired collard greens in her hands, he told her to scram. "Beat it, kid."

The girl bowed promptly. Discretely stuffing both cans inside her doll, she slowly made her way to the apartment next door, zipping it shut before she turned the knob.


	3. Starving for Work

"And in return for clearing their land of walkers, they're offering up a bag of seed, a baby rooster and a few chickens, half a dozen eggs, and a bucket of water. What do you think?"

Daryl stood tall, arms crossed, confused at the notion of herding walkers away rather than just killing them. "Sounds like a big job."

"Yeah, that's why they're willing to give up a couple of birds."

"Minus your handler fee." He frowned.

"It's not that bad, Dixon. I'll just take a chicken and a couple of eggs." Daryl pressed his lips flat. "What? I've hired new scouts. Gotta feed them too! They're the ones bringing in the jobs and bringing back the pay! It's better than lugging all that stuff by yourself, right?" He remained silent. She smiled. "Let me know if you change your mind because I know a few other guys who are willing to do the job for less."

"Never said I wouldn't take it." Daryl scoffed.

Amy gleamed. "Good to hear! I'll let them know. Here's the map. It's a big farm a few days walk outside the Clear. There's no rush, but they'd like the job to be done by the end of the month."

"Free room and board?"

"Breakfast, no bed."

"Anythin' else?" he asked.

"Nothing you'd like but..." Amy pressed her palms down on her kiosk, thinking. She opened her mouth, but closed it. Daryl grunted, so she talked. "There's a one-time position as a sharpshooter. You'd have to protect a runner in and out of the Zone."

"This for your new scout?"

"No, it's for Zombie Zone Express _._ " Daryl gave her an incredulous look. "What? They only bring things in and out of the Zone. They don't have customers like we do to protect people's packages." She motioned at Daryl, staring at his biceps. "Not sure about the pay, but from what I hear people pay them to transport things, I'm sure the pay's pretty big. If they like you they'd probably call you back for more jobs. If you want to, that is."

"I'm good." Daryl huffed then began to walk away, warning her not to walk home alone.

"Well, that's all for now. But make sure you come back on time! Can't guarantee if I'll be able to hold onto good jobs for you!"

* * *

Daryl tossed a crumpled cloth at a wall, creating a loud thud that echoed in his tiny kitchen. The cloth fell into his bag. The leftover chunks of two rabbits and a squirrel were shoved into a small compartment. His canteen followed suit, then his hand-made arrows, a magazine, and the worn-out transceiver. Zipping his bag closed, Daryl sighed. He looked around the apartment once more, noticing it to be barer than it had ever been.

There was nothing left for Merle, if he did return. Merle never did, at least when Daryl came back from hunting trips. Daryl always returned to the apartment to find it empty. He managed to fix the window issue with a plank of wood he found on his way to the apartment, placing it between the glass and the frame.

Once outside the apartment, Daryl managed to catch a glimpse of the kid with his pizza box. Daryl eyed him, scanning him from head to toe. The kid waved hesitantly, shifting his eyes between Daryl and the door he was knocking on. He knocked faster. The door opened swiftly and the kid was dragged inside. Daryl frowned, twisting his key and tugging the handle repetitively to ensure the door had locked. He left his Borderlands apartment as the sun was rising, kicking up a storm of dust as he walked.

* * *

When he flashed his permit, Daryl was allowed to go through Wall. He received his customary "You're in the Clear" a few hours from when he left his apartment. It took a few more to reach the edge of the Clear, then a few more to go beyond.

The pavement began to disappear from sight and the distance between each house grew. The tiny forests with scattered trees became no more; more trees began to surround him, the grass grew thicker and the ground more earthy. He sighed in relief when he was deep into the woods. A bird called softly in the distance. A twig crunched loudly, crumpling under the weight of his foot. A piece of wood ended up digging into his sole. He laboured through a large patch of mud, dragging his feet through the viscous goop, struggling to keep his balance steady. He took a few minutes to rest, breathing deeply when he finally got through to the other end of the shallow but troublesome mud.

He continued to walk, taking a small sip of water and nibbling a piece of dried rabbit every so often. He managed to shoot a small bird down, but the arrowhead was too large, resulting in guts splattering on the ground, on the trees, and on his shirt. A flurry of feathers scattered towards the ground. Drying mud caked around most of his foot. He rubbed the bottom of his boots against a small rock, scraping the gunk off.

The sun was hanging directly above him when he stopped to sit atop a smooth boulder. After a quick scan of the surrounding area, he relaxed by spreading his body across the rock—although his crossbow never left his hand. He sighed and stared at the clouds as they passed by. He followed a small one in particular, moving faster than all the rest, as if it doesn't want to be caught or held back by anything. The breeze felt wonderful, relieving compared to the Borderland's grimy air.

Something rustled in the distance, snapping a few twigs and crunching a dead leaf or three. Daryl shifted. He shivered and took a quick look around. It was dark, hard to see, hard to tell if something would be coming from the distance. He quickly cursed at himself for letting his guard down and falling asleep before focusing on the sounds in the forest.

He raised his weapon, aimed at the foliage, ready to fire. He tried to breathe quietly, softly, holding it when necessary. He waited for whatever was there to reveal itself. Then  _twang_! The bolt flew towards the target, hitting it square between the eyes. A small doe collapsed to the group, thumping heavily against the dusty forest floor. Daryl looked around before he discreetly pumped his fist. He prepared a fire.

Slowly chewing the meat, Daryl savoured the freshly cooked tenderloin. He sat beside the crackling fire with two sticks holding large pieces of meat, cutting the rest of the carcass, saving some meat for the future. Along the perimeter of his camp, sat a few snares, signals, and traps. A short distance away was a small creek with clear running water. He slept well then packed his belongings, cleared his tracks, and set off when the sun rose.

Between the forests were patches of tilled land. Many of them were empty, devoid of crops, animals, and signs of human life. Eventually, he found a small dirt path and walked not beside it, but a few feet into the forest. He followed it, passing what seemed to be a chicken farm, and a small shack.

He rustled the map out of his pocket, staring at the poorly drawn squiggles and straight lines. Although it was simplistic, it served its purpose. Daryl noticed the road with abandoned cars and made his way there.

He scoped the vehicles, quickly ruffling through trunks and around the seats. The sweat began to accumulate, so he wiped it off his brow with the back of his hand. A walker growled hungrily from a van. It was a pitiful little thing strapped to a small car sea. When Daryl came by, it reached out its arms at him, yearning for some of his fresh flesh. Daryl sighed. Then stabbed it in the head, through the thin cotton hat. It squirmed, kicked, and released a blood-curdling cry.

His inventory grew, expanding to add a flashlight, two batteries, a rope, and a small half-used first aid kit. Somewhat satisfied, Daryl hopped into a large truck, sliding himself flat against the long front seat. He locked the doors and closed his eyes, wishing he had Merle's bike.

* * *

He reached the farm two days later but didn't walk to the front door until sometime in the afternoon. The morning was spent surveying the land, counting the number of walkers—from what he saw, there wasn't that much, maybe thirty or so scattered here and there—and patrolling the perimeter.

An old man with a charming drawl answered the door. He laid out some rules, explaining that Daryl was not to set foot inside the house, speak to his children or anyone else on the farm; breakfast was to be found on the porch every morning with a glass of water: he was free to come and go from the property as long as the job was completed within the month, although he should notify his presence and departure beforehand; and that the barn was off-limits.

During his stay, he sat on the porch every morning and complained to himself that the food tasted like shit, although he took his time and chewed every last bite. He borrowed a horse without asking permission and lost it after a snake scared it away. He tumbled down a cliff. Daryl chose to clear the land of walkers in four days.

Daryl returned to the farmhouse, pants covered in dust, boots worn in and falling apart. He just reached the fence when a horse and her rider galloped by him, almost knocking him over.

"Watch it!" he yelled, shaking a fist.

The rider pulled on the reigns, urging the mount to slow. She pulled on the reigns until she was staring straight at Daryl. The girl lifted her hat up slightly and smiled, adjusting the shotgun on her back. Her brown hair curled towards her skin, bouncing lightly as the horse jostled to a halt.

"Was aiming for you but I missed," she teased, rearing her horse.

"Ain't you supposed to be makin' breakfast or somethin'?"

She rolled her eyes at his comment. "Quick trip to town to get some supplies. Here, you deserve it for being such a prick the past few days. You're lucky we found our horse." She flung a small square his way.

He caught it and stared. The package claimed it was glow-in-the-dark and came lubed. Daryl wasn't sure if it was expired but what was evident was that she was trying to tell him something.

"I ain't touchin' you if that's what you're lookin' for…"

"You probably can't even get it up," she giggled. And with that, she rode off to the stables behind the barn, jumping off her horse with ease, looking once more at Daryl before she strolled into the front door.

Daryl balled his fists and clenched his lips, looking in the girl's direction but staring off in the distance.

Daryl found his breakfast the way he asked it. His eggs were boiled with the shells left on. He put them into his pockets and carried the tray to his camp on the other side of the tree line. He sat on a small decaying stump, chewing on the small pieces of meat.

When he returned to the house, he saw the farmer standing on the porch, waiting for him. The farmer shook his hand, claiming Daryl had exceeded his expectations, explaining that as long as Daryl wouldn't do things without permission, he'd call on Daryl for his services again—but he'd rather not.

"I'll send the scout with the payment. Should receive it in a few days."

* * *

He made a pit stop at the Helm. Daryl reached Fishin' for Gold but noticed Amy wasn't standing at her kiosk. Instead, a small voice perked up from behind the metal frame, "What are you looking for, mister?"

When Daryl saw the young boy manning her stand, he frowned. The somewhat cute freckled face smiled brightly. Even though they were in the Clear, the child's neatly trimmed brown hair and a sheriff's hat wouldn't fly in a place like this.

Daryl crossed his arms, thinking. "Wenonah."

"Well, she's not here."

"What're you doin' here, kid? Shouldn't you be in school or somethin'?"

"Wenonah asked me to look after her stand," he replied factually, swinging his feet below the chair.

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced. "Then tell her the job's done."

"Which one?" the boy asked playfully. He pushed up his hat, probably in an attempt to look tough, but it fell back down. Daryl snickered to himself quietly.

"The farm job." The boy pushed his hat back up again, using one hand to hold it up.

"Oh!" The kid's eyes brightened. He stood up against the metal kiosk, staring at Daryl. "That means you're the man with the nice guns! My mom won't let me touch guns. Can I see them? Please! I won't tell her if you won't—"

"Don't think that's a good idea."

"Do you know what the Zone's like? I've always wanted to check it out!"

An angry voice flew out, "I thought I told you to stay near me at all times!" A woman grabbed the child by the shoulders, got down to his level, and whispered furiously into his ear.

"Aww, mom!"

She stared into his eyes, firmly holding the bouncing boy down. "How many times do I have to tell you to stay put? Remember what happened to the boy down the street?"

"Duane?"

"Yeah, Duane."

The boy pouted, held his hands together in front of him, and twiddled his thumbs. He looked at his mother, who quickly pulled him into a hug, embracing him tightly in her arms. She whispered something into his ear, holding him for a few more seconds before pulling away. The boy smiled softly then sat down on the chair, eyes downcast.

"Now, what can I help you with?" she asked politely, turning to Daryl. She placed her palms on the metal stand and looked at him, brown hair swaying.

Daryl was caught off guard and jumped slightly. "Finished the farm job. Old man said he'd send the pay with the scout. Any others?"

"Sorry, I'm new here. My laundering business just fell flat. What's your name and game?"

"Dixon, meat and meatbags."

The woman sized Daryl up, pressing her lips tightly together. She pulled a notepad from inside the stand and flipped it open. Scanning the paper, she moved her finger across the page and turned it to the other side, repeating the process until her finger traced a large paragraph quickly, skipping illegible scribbles here and there.

"Had a few jobs come in but Wenonah said she couldn't hold onto any for you. She didn't think you'd be gone for more than a week. Ended up giving them to some other hunters a few days ago."

Daryl clenched his jaw. His leg twitched, but he resisted the urge to stomp his foot. A deep breath entered his lungs and he held it there before releasing it slowly through pursed lips.

"Anythin' else up for grabs?"

"There's a missing boy, reward is a mag for his whereabouts. Two, if you bring him back."

"Dead, alive, or in between?"

She didn't answer his question. Instead, she explained what he looked like and where he was last seen. Daryl didn't look too pleased but he said he'd keep an eye out for him.

"Someone wants a squirrel for an old music player. It runs on batteries and comes with a few discs. Do you like the Backstreet Boys?" Daryl stood silently. "There's also a search for some gunmen wearing masks. Shot down a deputy." The woman paused, covering her mouth with a hand, clutching her jaw tight. "Ahem, reward's a gun of your choice and some ammo."

"Didn't think the cops would be puttin' out ads in a place like this."

She lowered her voice, "It's not them who put the bounty."

Daryl nodded, and inquired for more details. She described what she knew, ranting about how her husband was shot down in the Zone after he chased some hoodlums back across the border. Daryl made a mental note when she was finished then asked her if there's anything else with a larger reward.

"And there's a position as a runner's backup."

"Dangerous job migratin' in and out of the Zone." Daryl closed his eyes, but asked anyways, "What they givin' up for it?"

"Food. Money. Weapons." She eyed her son carefully and whispered, "Sex." Her son didn't seem to be paying any attention, so she continued. "Payment varies depending on what you want, who you go with, and how deep you travel. Trips to the Borderlands aren't bad, but the ones to the Old City... Well, most people don't come back."

"I see." Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, deep in thought.

The kid waved goodbye, pretending to shoot a gun in the distance with his fingers. He pulled his trigger finger. His mother scolded him.

* * *

Daryl climbed the stairs wearily. He tugged on his crossbow, which was resting on his semi-filled bag that bounced heavily behind him. Days sleeping on uneven ground that smelled like cow shit had resulted in tiny aches that were easily brushed aside, but bring in close proximity to his bed smashed what little resolve he had left.

When he reached his floor, Daryl saw the guy—the one who taunted him with each and every visit he made to the apartment by the stairs—leaning down to speak to the little girl, the kid with the oversized shirt and baseball cap. Daryl stepped in as soon as he saw the kid reach for the girl's doll, smiling at her a little too sweetly.

"What's goin' on here?" Daryl barked. He stepped forward, underneath the dead bulb that hung above Room 201. The lack of light led to a lack of clear vision, making Daryl unsure of what was happening.

The kid looked at him, his face morphing into silly expression. Daryl got a good look at him. He had smooth skin yet there was a little stubble above his lip, brown eyes, black hair under his cap, and a goofy grin that seemed a little too infectious. Daryl moistened his dry mouth with his tongue. The girl stared at Daryl, taking her doll back. Her stomach cried out.

"Nothing!" the kid exclaimed, waving his hands in front of him as if it was a peaceful gesture.

"Don't seem like nothin'." He stepped closer towards the kid and crossed his arms.

The kid focused on Daryl's threatening biceps when his smile began to fade. When he saw them bulge, he gulped. "Just trying to help out," the kid murmured with a faltering voice. He kept his body facing Daryl, only moving his eyes to look at the girl. "I'll see you later."

The girl turned, quietly making her way to her apartment, struggling to hold her doll as close to her body as she could.

"So," the kid began, hesitantly offering his hand to Daryl. But Daryl stared. Hard. "I'm Glenn."

That's when it hit him. "You're a chink."

Glenn looked offended. "I'm Korean!"

"What's the difference?" Daryl asked sarcastically. But he regretted the question because as soon as he stopped talking the kid started to ramble about geographical locations, economical considerations, and language variations. Daryl was stunned by how fast his lips were moving. Oh so fast. When Glenn reached the different shapes of noses Daryl shut him up by grabbing his shoulder. Glenn tried to squirm out of his grasp but Daryl pressed him against the wall, close enough he could feel Glenn's breath on his skin. "D-don't touch her."

"Wha—?" Glenn said, dumbfounded. Slightly angling his face away from Daryl's, Glenn took a deep breath before meeting his eye. He flinched, looking down, forcing his hands to stay at his sides, blinking repeatedly before he met Daryl's eye once more. "I don't even—"

Daryl squeezed the shoulder, causing the kid to grimace slightly. Daryl looked deeply into his eyes, telling him not to go near the girl again. But all he saw in the kid was resilience. And something else he couldn't discern, something that felt dangerous. He needed to retreat. Immediately. He released the Korean, who rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

Daryl with his fists balled, walked past the kid, who stood there staring at him. Daryl pulled his key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. The kid stopped breathing somewhere behind him. When Daryl turned the key, the knob didn't. Daryl's eyes opened wide. The door was unlocked. He turned, his glare ready to shoot Glenn down, his mouth ready to fire questions at him. But the kid vanished.

He stepped into his apartment, alone like always. The clutter he kicked to the side was nowhere to be found. He checked his secret compartment to find that a pound of dried meat was missing, leaving only enough to last him a few more days with strict rationing. And his hot slice hadn't arrived. He tossed his bow onto the bed and flung his bag shortly after. Daryl growled and kicked the wall. His brother's name escaped his chapped lips.

* * *

Daryl grunted, hoisting his body into a sitting position. The bed was creaking, threatening to break under his weight. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He pulled his sheet off him and swung his feet to the side of his bed, cock dangling between his thighs. Daryl hopped, sliding his pants on, his dirty and overused underwear sat in the corner of his room. His stomach growled, demanding nourishment.

The window seemed to be steadfast with his nifty mending, only shaking slightly against the strong whistling winds outside. He buttoned himself and strode to the window. It wasn't raining, but the sky was darkening.

He quickly packed his bag, slicing a few strips of meat for his trip before hiding the rest underneath the sink, the remaining amount inadequate for a single meal. His cupboards that held cans were empty—save the dust. Daryl picked a shirt off the ground that appeared to be cleaner than the rest and put it on.

Theo greeted him at the gate cheerfully. He denied seeing Merle when Daryl asked, rubbing the back of his head when Daryl scowled. Daryl thanked him with a shrug as he walked away.

He reached the Helm, which was more crowded than usual, by midday. Garbage was strewn all over the floors between puddles of beer, piss, and who knows what else. Daryl avoided puddles determinedly, sidestepping over each one with disdain. There were people running around, hounding the stands. Hired arms pushed them back, commanding them to line up in single file or they would be assisted outside.

Fishin' for Gold was crowded, Amy was having trouble speaking to all the men and women asking for jobs, but not as much as Zombie Zone Express, which had twice as many people—although they were all lined up in an orderly fashion with offerings of cans of food, a large bunch of carrots and vegetables, a multitude of weapons, and other valuables in their hands. He eyed the stall at the end of the row carefully with sidelong glances, licking his lips and patting his stomach lightly.

To join the line at Amy's stall, Daryl stood behind a rowdy couple—though chances were they weren't really a couple at all. The taller one was loud and obnoxious, his girl was short and spunky. Before them was a large group of people, perhaps around twenty, shoving each other here and there.

One person stumbled and was pushed out of line. He yelled at the person behind him, cussing in a language Daryl wasn't familiar with. A gun was pointed at another man's head, causing a small uproar. Fists collided with skin, the sounds echoing throughout the Helm. Those hit with collateral damage joined in the fray, jumping on the one who hit them or defending the one they were fighting. Daryl held his bag close with one hand, his other hanging close to the knife on his waist.

He eyed Zombie Zone Express once more, the customers lined up quietly, the food in their hands calling Daryl over with sweet aromas.

He took this moment to surge past the crowd. He reached the stall, where a surprised Amy stood alone, no guards beside her. A glint of light flickered in the corner of his eye. It was Andrea sitting behind large boxes, with a sniper rifle in her hand, ready to take down anyone who gets too unruly or close to Amy for her liking. He nodded in her direction then turned back to Amy.

"Sign me up for the Expresstrain," he commanded, slamming his hands on the metal stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We-no-nah” was printed on the boat Andrea and Amy were fishing in at the beginning of the episode “Vatos” (1x04). I know it phonetically spells out ‘Winona’ but I like Wenonah better.


	4. Hungry for More

Daryl sauntered down the Helm, weaving through the crowded aisles to reach his usual destination. He was trying to ignore the leftover, feelings, thoughts that commanded his attention, most of them from the intense glaring session he had with Glenn earlier that morning, the rest from the whimpers that came from the little girl next door. And, hell, some thoughts about what the hell his brother was up to as well.

Daryl had left the apartment the same time the kid left his—well, the one he often visited—at sunrise. The kid was fixing his silly plaid shirt and gave a hesitant smile. Daryl nodded sharply towards the stairs and the kid sighed with an expression that confused Daryl. The kid sprinted down the stairs, fixing his hair all while sneaking glances at Daryl. Daryl rubbed the sweat off his palms onto his pants and growled quietly to himself when he concluded that the kid had stayed overnight.

He uneasily pushed the gut-wrenching feelings aside, unsure what to make of them, and focused to take in his surroundings. The other stalls were busy, bartering goods, and selling meat, while Amy sat there, appearing to be bored out of her mind and desperate for any social interaction she could get. She released a frustrated groan and slumped down onto her stall. When she saw Daryl, she looked as if she lost the lottery but a glimmer of relief spread across her face—surprisingly.

"Still walkin' home alone?"

"I can handle myself." Amy laughed his comment off. "There's a festival tomorrow outside the police station. Everyone's going. And I mean everyone! You coming?"

"Can't."

"You're missing out." She sighed. "So you're taking the Express job!" Amy explained the process, informing Daryl that there would be a few tests before they officially hired him for the position. She blabbered the details as if they were fresh juicy bits of gossip. Daryl questioned the length of process, claiming it wasn't necessary, but Amy insisted on it.

He didn't really mind. He needed the distraction. He needed the food.

"So all I gotta do is walk up to the stall and ask for Jack?" Daryl leaned onto Amy's stand.

Amy nodded. "Yup! Tell them I sent you and that's all there is to it."

"Hmm." Daryl closed his eyes. "Lemme know if anyone sees my brother."

Amy pursed her lips. "Sounds like a hard job. What's the reward if someone finds him?"

"They won't get their ass kicked."

Daryl left the girl, who crossed her arms, bewilderedly. He strolled to the end of the aisle, retaliating against the oncoming looks with his own, baring his teeth at rambunctious kids and adults alike. He tugged his bow further up his back and raised his head, looking down on others as he walked.

Zombie Zone Express was painted on a grand sign above a large metal stand. Behind it a dark woman laughed, speaking to her customers. She held their hands and spoke softly with a soothing voice. The stall, as per usual, had a modest group of people lining up. Daryl grudgingly took his place at the end of the queue. Three people fell behind him shortly after.

By the time there were only two people in front of him, Daryl's patience began to wear thin. He tapped his foot repeatedly, thinking how things would be different if Merle were here. His brother would've kicked and yelled, scaring half the line away with his voice alone, the rest would move aside once Merle's fists and weapons were whipped out, ready to take any takers on. Daryl sighed and a small proud smile accidentally emerged from his stoic face.

The man in front of Daryl spoke in a hushed voice, quickly whispering words off a mental list that seemed to be memorized word for word. Between the mumbling, Daryl heard a few words, something about sectors, perks, and eyed the shaved head, scattered with scars and the small hairs poking through the dry and flaky scalp. The man placed a small package onto the stand, then turned, facing away from Daryl, and left the aisle with his hands in his pockets.

Tired, Daryl placed his palms on the surprisingly clean stand, which compared to Amy's was greaseless. He stared at the woman in front of him. Her hair was short, tight around her scalp. Her full lips bright with lipstick contrasted greatly with her dark but smooth skin. Daryl stared at her in the eyes and spoke commandingly.

"Lookin' for Jack."

"Jack?" she repeated. She moved to the back of the stall and placed the package she received, zipping it inside an already stuffed green backpack.

"That's what I said." Daryl tapped his fingers on the cool metal, pressing them hard enough so he could hear them click. "Jack, dammit!" She eyed him warily, holding back the words in her mouth. Daryl knew then that she going to talk. "Jack!" Daryl growled, unsure of what to do and slammed a fist into his thigh.

"Who told you to look for Jack?" she asked calmly.

Was it really that simple? "Wenonah."

The woman smiled sweetly, asking him to follow her. She left the stand unattended, explaining to the complaining crowd someone would be there shortly. Daryl struggled to follow her as she weaved through the crowded aisles of the Helm, past the busy food market and through the weapons stalls. She waved at one of the men, who permitted them entrance into the rear end of a knife store. After Jack pulled a pair of drapes, they entered a hidden door behind a wooden case full of worn out machetes and ended up in a cold empty alley.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," she warned. "I'm not goin' to do anything to you." Daryl breathed heavily, and after an awkward bout of staring, he hesitantly took his hand off his knife's hilt. "I'm just taking you to the training area."

"I'm not lookin' to train for anythin'. I'm lookin' for Jack."

She smiled knowingly. "Well, sweetie, you've found him."

* * *

Daryl hoisted his bow and let his bolt fly. It flew, striking the target in the stomach. It groaned.

"Now the knee."

He pulled his string taut then loaded his bow. "Left or right?"

"Go wild."

At that moment, the chains holding the walker's legs fell to the ground, clanking against the dirt, permitting the creature to rush towards Daryl. It growled, hungering for a taste of flesh it had been denied for days. Daryl slowed his breathing and raised his bow. The walker limped towards him, stumbling on a rock while it dragged its useless leg with it. Daryl released. His bolt shattered what was left of the rotting patella.

His emerging grin was stopped pre-emptively when he heard something from his side. It was a loud crunching sound, one of bones and flesh mashing together. Immediately, Daryl reached for his knife, and dodged an oncoming walker before kicking it down and stabbing it in the skull from behind. He dislodged his knife, which came out after a few sharp tugs, bloodied and somewhat disgusting. Other than the man standing beside the chains across the field and the woman beside him, the field was empty.

"The hell was that about?" Daryl yelled, pointing accusingly at her.

"Just a test," Jack said, bringing her hands together in front of her body. "You have to protect someone else and whatever they're holding. You can't do that if you can't protect yourself." Daryl cursed inwardly at her, but she could tell he did by the way she raised her brow. "Don't give me that look Dixon. Do you want the job or not?"

He looked at the dead walker beside him before shifting his glare to the woman again. He thought of the empty cupboard. He thought of how he'd given the last of his food to the little girl. After retrieving his bolts, he stalked off, heading towards the crumpled grass path, heading back to the Borderlands. Inside his bag were three cans of food, an early deposit courtesy of Jack, two of them he ate that night.

"Bright and early. Just follow the map."

* * *

To reach the broken building at sunrise, he snuck through the hole in the Wall. A quick jog helped Daryl to remember that place he holed up in a month ago just a few minutes walk away from the hole. He decided to sneak a glance and see if any food was left in the room. Chances were the guy who used this room died after Daryl saw him. But when reached the door he was surprised when he discovered it was locked.

"Steppin' up your game, huh?" Daryl muttered. He should've grabbed all the food he could've carried the last time he was here.

Daryl left the building and crossed the street to where he was supposed to meet the runner he was assigned to. It seemed to be an old shop of some kind, devoid of any product. The hallway leading to the small room was long and tight, the small rocks rocked to the beat of his steps. He stood against a shoddy brick wall, which was shaky but sturdier than the rest. Daryl tried to savour his last can of food, hard beans in a fake flavourless pork sauce. He closed his eyes, opened his ears, and waited. Only one way in, only one way out. That way there'd be no surprises.

Who knows how much time had passed by before he heard a rock bouncing on the floor, heading towards him. Daryl raised his bow and pulled the string taut. A youthful voice came from the other end of the hall, laughing nervously, asking Daryl to put down his weapon.

"Sorry. It's protocol to sneak up on our backup. You know, to see how good they are."

When he saw the shadow peeking from behind the brick wall across from him, Daryl moved swiftly. He made his way to the wall, sliding his back close to but not against it, all the way until he was just beside the door. From that position, Daryl knew he'd have the advantage of surprise. Edging closer to the end, Daryl heard the voice talking louder, asking where he went. Daryl yanked the dirty arm when he saw it, pulling it and the person around the wall, before he tossed him to the ground.

"Hey!" was the cry from the ground. He winced in pain. "What was that for?"

Daryl aimed his bow high and peeked down the hall only to see that it was empty. He lowered his bow and sauntered towards the person on the ground. Daryl's eyes opened wide when he saw the baseball cap. Daryl smirked. A quick glance showed there was a tattoo on the side of the kid's neck, a marijuana symbol. Daryl quirked a brow. He carefully used his foot, wedging it between the kid's side and the ground to turn him over, only to scowl when he saw short light brown hair and a big nose.

"You ain't Korean."

"No, duh." The kid replied, rubbing his hand along the bottom of his nose, wiping some blood off. He wore a dirty wifebeater that did nothing but make his body look less appealing.

Daryl raises his fist, threatening the kid, who recoiled at the sight and stumbled backwards. Some pity came over Daryl, so he stood off to the side, crossed his arms, and turned away, allowing him privacy and to spare him some embarrassment. But the kid glared at Daryl from across the room.

"What?" Daryl rebutted. "This ain't part of the test?"

"No," the kid groaned in frustration. But he made himself small when Daryl frowned. He sighed and motioned with his finger. "Ugh. Follow me."

"Tsch."

Through the rubble and fallen bricks, Daryl followed the teen, who refused to divulge his name. When Daryl asked, he insisted that Daryl call him something else instead. "I don't care. Call me Bob, call me Mike, I don't give a crap, man!"

The kid, although annoyed with Daryl, tried to make small talk here and there, inquiring about the type of work Daryl usually took on (he got a grunt), where Daryl came from (he didn't get a response), and what made Daryl decide to take the job ("Just for kicks"), before he gave up on making conversation with the hunter.

They travelled through the quiet streets of the Clear, passing green lawns, houses filled with families, and cars, vans, and trucks with empty tanks. The kid, keeping low but moving fast, Daryl jogging lightly ahead with his bow loaded, eyes scanning the distance. Daryl and the runner invaded backyards, stumbling over lawn tools and tall weeks. Creaky fences were hopped horribly. After passing a few houses, the runner stopped behind a bush, gesturing Daryl to move close behind him. Daryl's patience neared empty.

"What're we bein' sneaky about? This ain't the Zone." Daryl hissed, crouching a short distance behind the runner. The guy shook his head in an attempt to ignore Daryl. "What're we even lookin' for?"

"Bringin' weapons into the Borderlands," he replied. "Gotta be quiet about it though." He paused. "Shit load of walkers 'round here. This place is so quiet a pin drop will send them running our way."

"Any people I should be worried about?"

The kid closed his eyes, thinking, remembering. "No."

The neighbourhood they entered was quiet and surprisingly empty. The houses were large, and the yards grew grander with each passing street. Daryl knew that people from the Zone would be killing just to get homes as nice as these. He was not sure if he'd join in the bloodbath, but he decided that if Merle wanted one, he wouldn't try to hold him back. A few turns later, they reached a small playground littered with garbage.

"There it is." He pointed towards a house at the end of a small lane. "Watch out. There are walkers here."

The runner signalled that he was ready to go, motioning for Daryl to cover his back. Crossing the road was easier than anticipated. A walker ambled down the street, far enough to satisfy Daryl's desire not to waste ammo, apparently ignorant of the fact that food was nearby. They waited behind a bush to the side of a driveway for the opportune moment. The house was perfect with its bright red paint and varnished deck, the grass neatly trimmed, and the blinds pulled to the slides, letting the sunshine in.

The grass rustled bending to the breeze. Daryl took a whiff of the air, breathing deeply, waiting for his temporary partner's signal. The young runner shifted his head, scanning the area for any threats. A satisfied sound escaped his lips, so he motioned to Daryl he was ready to move.

The kid ran forward, past the backyard bushes, and yelped. Daryl jumped, shooting a walker in the nose. The kid was crouching in front of the prone walker, hands covering his head, wiggling in fear, stammering nervous prayers before screaming in a language Daryl didn't fully understand. But it was one he recognized due to Merle's constant mocking.

"Hey, Taco Breath!" Daryl pressed his foot onto the kid's back. "If your whiny yelp ain't their dinner bell, your screams when I kick your ass will get them comin'!" He yanked the kid's shirt, lifting him in the process, and shoved him towards the side of the house. When the runner opened his mouth, Daryl did the same, cutting him off. "No time for stupid ass sorries. Let's just get in and out of this shithole."

The walker's face squished under the weight of Daryl's foot, broken cartilage cracked when he pulled his arrow out. He wiped it on the kid, who groaned in disgust when he turned to see Daryl rubbing the rotten guts on him. Edging alongside the house, they quietly jumped the fence into the large backyard. Groans multiplied when the runner fumbled with the door.

"It's locked!" he yelled.

Daryl countered the complaint with a glare.  _Useless_. The kid pulled out a ring of keys and shoved each one into the hole only to meet resistance. Urging him to hurry up, Daryl raised his voice, notifying his useless partner that walkers were on their way—through a hole in the other side of the backyard fence. Daryl cursed.

"I can't do it!" the young man whined.

Rolling his eyes, Daryl grunted, making his way to the door. With all his strength, Daryl kicked it repeatedly, the sounds echoing throughout the empty neighbourhood, a beacon alerting any walkers of their presence. But it didn't matter. They had to get in and get out. Daryl had to get the job done. The thought of his empty cupboard gave Daryl the drive to kick the door down. They raced into the house, the kid quickly peeking into every room on the main level before running up the carpeted stairs.

"Where're the guns, Mike?" Daryl yelled, eye on the back door, bow ready to fire.

"Who?" the kid asked. Daryl shouted that the kid said he didn't care what he was called. The response he received was flustered. "I don't know! This is my first time doing a run!"

"What?" Daryl pounded his feet heavily as me made his way up the stairs. "You've gotta be kiddin' me!"

When he reached the top, he turned, quickly scanning the rooms, finding no weapons of any sort. The house was clean, organized. The smaller bedroom was empty aside from the piles of notebooks and toys. Children? Daryl saw the abundance of army men and miniature cars on top of a single bed. A son. If so, surely the weapons were probably positioned somewhere out of sight. The bathroom was more of the same. The closet only contained a few piles of mismatching towels and bedsheets. Daryl found the runner's legs sticking out from under the bed in the master's bedroom.

"Why the hell are you under there?" Daryl bent over to see the kid fumbling his hands up into the mattress. He scoffed then paced alongside the bed.

"I'm lookin'! I'm lookin'!" the kid groaned annoyingly, ruffling through the mattress with more haste.

Frustrated, Daryl punched a wall. "Hurry it up, kid! We ain't got much time!"

"Well, why don't you help me instead of just standing there?" the teen grumbled from under the bed.

He took a deep breath, releasing it through clenched teeth, but did as he asked. He scoured the room, turning over chairs, rummaging through clothes in the closets, and checking the washroom. Daryl threw pillows around, pulled furniture away from the walls, and knocked on walls. No matter how fast he broke things, he knew the main floor would be occupied by a hoard of walkers.

The teen was still digging inside the mattress from underneath, complaining that it was supposed to be somewhere in the bedroom. Daryl looked around at the mess he just made. He tore everything apart—except the drawers.

Daryl mustered up courage and slid one open, expecting a rabid squirrel to jump out and bite his eyelids off. Instead, he found a bag of neatly arranged shotguns beside a bunch of photo albums. He raised a brow, wondering why these would be here and who would've brought them. He stared at them for a few seconds, contemplating their usefulness and how each one was engraved with a fancy  _G—_ , only to be brought to attention by the runner, who asked if Daryl found it yet. After he grabbed the bag, he slammed the drawer shut, cursed at the kid, and yelled for him to get up.

They fought their way out of the house, Daryl killing all four walkers. The kid nearly got bit, but Daryl pushed him aside in time to stab a walker in the head. When they saw the backyard, it was clear of walkers. The kid let go of the bag and fell to his ass. He sighed in relief, thanking Daryl with a small wave. But when Daryl left, he felt as if he was being watched.

* * *

They had gone through the hole in the Wall to avert raising any suspicion if they went through the guards. Guns were invaluable and large quantities of them were often confiscated at the gate. Daryl had led the runner there, but the latter wasn't surprised, appearing to know this passage as well. Daryl glared at the runner's back until they reached their destination.

Daryl ended up bringing the bag of shotguns to a small hut a few miles away from his apartment. A small Spanish-speaking man beckoned them in, shaking Daryl's hands when he received the package. He nodded at the runner and they spoke fast enough to confuse Daryl, hindering his chance to follow the conversation, making the basic Spanish he learned as a child useless. After a brief but seemingly detailed conversation, the man handed Daryl a small shoebox. The weight of it caught Daryl off guard, leading him to question what was inside.

The runner spoke with Daryl outside, thanking him, letting him know that he'd appreciate it if Jack didn't know about what happened during the trip. Daryl gave a half-assed shrug. The kid said he should report to Jack that the goods were delivered. He grabbed the box from Daryl and after nestled it under his arm, he headed towards the Clear.

When he reached the apartment door, Daryl heard sounds coming from both ends of the floor—yelling from the room next door and moans and laughter from the room by the stairs. His ears locked in on the little girl's screams and Glenn's videogame references. Daryl shook his head, unlocked his door, and went inside. And although he used the tactics he learned over the years to distract himself, he listened to their voices throughout the night, repeating them in his head over and over, even when all he got from the other apartments was silence.

* * *

He woke up midday, body sweating, stomach gurgling. Daryl trudged towards the kitchen and finished the rest of the meat he hid under his sink. Unsatisfied, he sighed and made his way to his cupboards. And just like old times, before the world changed, he opened and closed it, expecting something new to appear even though he knew it wouldn't. But this time something did.

Twelve large cans of meat and vegetables, neatly arranged by expiration date, and three cans of root beer, sat inside the cupboard he swore he left empty.


	5. Behind Closed Doors

The kid had been standing outside in the hallway, holding a seemingly overstuffed and bulging doll away from the little girl's reach. Daryl watched from behind the front door, breathing as quietly as he could, as the little girl jumped over and over, trying to grab the toy out of Glenn's hand. The kid laughed, swinging his wrist back and forth. Daryl thought he saw the little girl smile. But she couldn't have been.

After a few seconds of seeing the teasing, Daryl opened his door, drawing the attention of the kid. "What's goin' on here?"

"Nothin'," was the kid's curt reply.

Glenn bent down and handed the doll to the little girl before fishing out two more from his knapsack. He ruffled his fingers through her hair before pushing her lightly to her apartment. The smile Glenn wore confused Daryl. Daryl wasn't sure if the kid was scared, happy, or what. Being on the receiving end of such a grin made him uncomfortable, so Daryl stared downwards. The kid's shoes were covered in dry mud; the bottoms of the jeans were tattered, there was a large rip in one of the knees, and there was a tent at his crotch—

"You know what, kiddo?" Daryl darted his tongue out, moistening his lips.

"What?" the kid asked expectantly.

Daryl blurted out, "Your fly's down."

And so began the awkward staring sessions.

The kid's trips to Room 201, although infrequent, happened in no discernable pattern. Daryl noticed the youth come and go at random times on random days, and judging by the shushing from the other side of the front door, sometimes even at night. He'd peek at the kid from behind the front door and often slammed it shut whenever he got caught. Sometimes, he'd send frowns to the kid and they would be countered with awkward grins and waves—especially after the kid was shoved out of the apartment with a hand that bordered on the upper edge of his bum. The kid always showed up, balancing a dinky cardboard box on one hand while the other knocked on the door, announcing his presence with his customary call: "I've got the stuff!"

Daryl always glared when he saw the Korean flattening the creases in his shirt as the door shut behind him. The glare would sometimes result in a timid smile from the kid, who slowly sidestepped towards the stairs. Daryl often eyed Glenn's bulging package, but the kid once caught him staring, so he turned around swiftly and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, holding the box against his side. And when the kid travelled down, Daryl always resisted the urge to laugh at a wedgie be undone. Daryl claimed the tightness from his jeans was because he'd been eating well recently and thus gained weight.

The last time he saw the kid was three days ago. But Daryl knew he couldn't sit on his ass any longer. Multiple missions needed to be completed. A living, whatever people call it these days, needed to be made. Food needed to be gathered. And he did complete such missions, hunting game and finding dead relatives. No matter how many he did, his mind always drifted to the thought he'd rather not think. And the new and persistent voice inside his head that he'd been trying to ignore.

* * *

Daryl reached the Helm and saw the skinny brunette from before, manning Amy's stand. Her rebellious son was nowhere in sight.

"Hey," he called out. "When am I gonna get paid for the farm job?"

The woman looked up from her book, surprised to see Daryl. "It's you. We haven't gotten anything from them yet. Sent scout out there a few days ago to collect the payment."

Daryl snorted and asked if there were any jobs. Before she could open her mouth, he denied finding the hoodlums that attacked her husband and explained there was no sign of the little boy, Duane. The woman sighed, rambling on about another one of her son's friends that had gone missing recently as well.

"Well, other than the usual land clearing, there isn't much." She avoided Daryl's gaze, focusing on what appeared to be a small rock on the ground, holding a hand above her stomach. "Oh! Wenonah told me to tell you that 'he thought you did fine.' And 'he said he'd be glad to take you back for another job.'"

Her words sounded scripted, as if she didn't truly understand what she was saying. From her tone, it sounded as if she believed Daryl was whoring himself out. Daryl raised a brow but quickly dismissed the thought. Identities these days are best kept secret—unless you want to be an easy target for revenge.

"Sure," Daryl said as if he didn't care. "Let me know when another comes in."

Before he leaved the Helm, he made a quick detour, sneaking by the Zombie Zone Expressstall, which had new upgrades, the one that stood out most: a large case holding boxes in all shapes and sizes behind the thin man managing the booth. There were large stacks of food and weaponry too.

"Can I help you?" the man called out to Daryl, who realized he was staring from the middle of the aisle.

Daryl shook his head furiously then left. He could hunt, but damn, he really did need to learn how to sneak around.

* * *

Daryl stared at the little square package he received from the farmgirl. He held it high above his head and spun it around, rubbing it between his fingers. The contents inside felt squishy to him, unfamiliar. After fumbling with the foil container, he shoved it deep into his front pocket. Maybe it would come in handy.

Daryl shook his head before massaging it with dirty fingers. Who was he kidding?

He stared at the bed, which sagged in the middle. It creaked under his weight and probably wouldn't even be able to hold a single pound before falling apart. The shower was disgusting. (Daryl began wearing shoes in there ever since that night Merle arrived drunk off his ass and threw up all over the shower floor. But the main reason for footwear wasn't because of the vomit, it's because Merle thought the shower was a toilet.) The kitchen counters were too small for two. There was the couch though. Daryl frowned, staring at the springs that poked through the thin flimsy fabric.

Loud echoing sniffles interrupted his thoughts. He opened the front door to spy down the hall a frail woman with thin short hair, sitting with her face in between her knees pressing her back against the wall. Daryl closed his door silently and crept towards her. He stopped a few feet away and stared at her until she became aware of his presence.

"Oh." The woman tried to stop crying by rubbing her eyes dry. "I didn't know someone was there."

She smiled at Daryl with tear-stained cheeks. Her lip was cut open and that the skin around her eyes was slightly off colour, that her skin was dry, cracking here and there, that she looked tired, hungry. There was a slight discolouration travelling up her arm.

"What's the matter?" he asked, crouching to her level.

The woman remained quiet, eyes downcast. She rubbed her hands together before holding her wrist. She refused to meet Daryl's eye, no matter how close he moved to her. He breathed heavily and blew in her face. She shivered and hugging her legs tightly.

"Just spit it out," he demanded. "I ain't gonna hurt you."

The woman broke down and began to bawl. He stood there staring, waiting until her tears ran out. Eventually, she spoke, looking up into Daryl's eyes, describing how her husband could afford the apartment but not the food, how he spent long hours toiling away trying to earn enough so they wouldn't be forced to live in the streets, how living in the Domino Block was their only option to survive.

"He divides the food. Gives himself enough so he can continue to support us," she explained solemnly.

Daryl stormed into his apartment, grabbed a large can, a soup loaded with beef chunks that he was saving for when Merle returned, and shoved it in her arms. She fumbled with the heavy can and stared at Daryl.

"I didn't know you lived next door." She gasped, surprised. "I always thought…"

But she stopped talking and stared at the air between them. She thanked Daryl repeatedly for his generosity before wiping her tears on her sleeve and going back into her apartment.

Daryl stood on the hallway and crossed his arms.

"Whatever."

* * *

Daryl peeked through the thin blinds, watching the shady figure bend over a carcass from across the alley. The Eye was rummaging around his room, picking up trash as he went along. He saw the old man's door open. Daryl followed the two figures as they entered the apartment room. Must be the sisters moving in, he thought. He wondered how the girls, newcomers to Area S, were able to make names of themselves so quickly.

The two blondes hugged the old man before placing small backpacks down on the ground. Daryl watched Amy jump and sprawl on the couch while Andrea gestured her hands at the old man. His interest in his new neighbours died down after more of the same repeated for a few minutes.

Instead, he shifted his attention to the large can of pork and beans sitting on his kitchen counter. He eyed it carefully, assessing whether the food was safe to eat. Initially, Daryl was surprised when he found the cans in his apartment, but he decided that somehow Jack found out where he lived and placed his pay there.

He planned how to ration the food, eating how much he thought he deserved for completing the job to Jack's satisfaction and putting some aside for the woman and the girl next door. He slept well.

* * *

He stretched his body, extending his arms far and his legs off the end of his bed, which creaked under his weight. The window was opened wide, allowing the sweltering heat to circulate in and out of his room. Better than bakin' alive, Merle used to say. His sleeveless shirt was unbuttoned, as if opening it up would provide any relief from the heat outside. It didn't. Daryl pulled it off, wiped the sweat off his scars, and tossed the sweat-soaked thing aside. He brought his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow but his attempt was futile, each drop combining with another to thinly coat his skin as if they were raindrops racing down a window.

And the sun just began to rise.

His deprived digestive system woke him up a few hours later. Daryl scratched his ass while walking towards the kitchen. The clutter in his apartment was now piled up behind the couch: old worn-out clothes, empty cans and bottles, dull blades, and outdated magazines and yellowed books. The stash of dried meat was slowly diminishing but he took the rest of it anyways. He kicked the stuff off his couch, pushing them into the corner with his feet.

"I mean, come on."

Leaning on the counter, Daryl chewed, trying to tear the dried up leathery strips of meat. He closed his eyes, ignoring the incessant voice he heard in his head.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

He slapped his forehead, trying to rid himself of the youthful ring. Two gulps of water made it easier to swallow the salty strips of game. When he finished, he realized that the gibbering sound did not stem from his mind, but from outside the apartment. Daryl stared at the door, almost gasping when he heard the voice again.

"Pull yourself together."

Daryl reminded himself to find a peephole during his next trip for the flimsy door. The one currently fixed inside the door was broken, only showing the bottom half of human bodies each time he looked through it. He quickly grabbed a shirt and slid it on, buttoning it up, covering the scars he didn't want himself or anyone to see. The door opened wide, interrupting the monologue of the Korean boy who was talking to himself and twiddling his thumbs outside the door. He nearly jumped when he realized Daryl was staring.

"Umm, hi." Glenn spoke sheepishly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Daryl jutted his chin upwards, acknowledging the kid's greeting. Glenn gulped, lifting his cap by the brim, standing on his toes, trying to look behind Daryl. "So you live here."

"Yeah. What of it?" Daryl sneered, sizing Glenn up. He stood in the doorway, blocking the kid from getting a view of the apartment.

"Well, uh," the kid began, scanning Daryl's arms, legs, then spending a while looking at his feet. Quickly, he zoomed back up to look Daryl in the eye. Glenn smiled then stepped to the side. Daryl stepped back. The kid smiled bashfully and pointed to what was on the floor behind him. "Here."

Daryl glanced at the small wooden cage. Inside the thin plywood sat a clucking chicken, a baby rooster, and a bag of grain all on a lovely hay blanket. On top, sat a cardboard case filled with half a dozen eggs and behind that was a sealed jug.

"What's this for?" Daryl asked, giving the kid a questioning glance, wondering how he hauled it from the Clear across the Wall and into the Borderlands all by himself. "And how the hell did you get it here without gettin' jumped?"

Glenn gave an awkward smile. "It's your pay. For the farm job." He paused, looking at Daryl face. "There was trouble at the farm so they couldn't get your pay over until a while ago. And we couldn't keep it in the Helm too long, it was attracting attention so, uh, I was asked to send it over."

"But they don't know where I live and you don't even know my name—"

Glenn spoke, surprising Daryl, "You're Dixon, right?"

"Yeah. How'd you know it was me?"

"Weno—"

"You Amy's new scout or somethin'?" Daryl muttered, one hand resting on the door's frame, the other on his hip.

Glenn blushed at Daryl's sudden gesture but the look on his face morphed into one of surprise when he heard Daryl say Amy's real name.

"I'm just a friend of hers. And, uh, she told me you were a redneck with a crossbow and nice guns—" Glenn abruptly shut up. "I saw one on your belt the other day! Looked like that one from Modern Warfare! Cool game, right? But anyways, it wasn't too hard to track you down with that description!" Daryl showed no outward reaction, forcing Glenn to laugh nervously and head for the stairs. "Anyways… See ya!"

"You best not tell her where I live!" Daryl shouted, fixing his eyes on the kid with a stare that could bore holes in his back.

After bringing his new supplies and pets in, Daryl walked back into his apartment and stared at the back window, watching Glenn walk out of the Domino Block. When the kid waved to Theo, who was sitting guard once again, Daryl realized he forgot to ask him about the hot slice that he ordered, the package he never received.

He clenched his fists but softened his grip when he saw Glenn turn around and wave goodbye. Daryl unintentionally and unknowingly waved back.


	6. World Like This

"Hey! Dixon! Get your pay? I asked scout to keep an eye out for you a week ago. Hope he didn't have too much trouble in finding you."

"Yeah. Just got it this morning. Glenn gave it to me," Daryl said blankly.

"What? Oh, Glenn! How's he doing? I haven't seen him in ages! He used to do jobs for me, you know. He wasn't that good at hunting but he was great at finding the randomest objects—" Daryl tried to keep a straight face at her side of the story but his surprise that Glenn lied trumped any seriousness he might have had. Oblivious to the fumbling of his stern gaze, Amy continued to babble. "—I met him just after all this happened. He had issues with his parents."

Daryl scoffed. "Don't everyone?"

Amy laughed warmly. "Yeah, but he hasn't talked to them for a while." Amy paused and then spoke softly. "He doesn't even know if they're still here, you know?" She sighed. "He's going to get himself killed one day, going off by himself like he always does. He's all alone now. No one there to…"

Daryl looked at her, formulating his thoughts, and opened his mouth. "A—"

"But yeah, Jack likes you. Has another job lined up if you're interested?" She leaned in towards Daryl and lowered the volume of her voice. "Help someone retrieve medical supplies from beyond the Clear and you'll get big bucks."

"Minus your handler fee, of course."

"What? These missions are actually on Jack. He gives you your whole share and gives me ten percent of on top of whatever you got. Not a bad deal, huh?"

"Not bad at all."

Amy covered the side of her mouth, whispering, "Word on the streets is that your brother was seen sneaking around a Burbs hospital swiping antibiotics..."

* * *

So that's where Daryl headed. Before he left, he placed the sack of seed in the chicken's cage. He also left a can filled with water. And of course, he checked outside the door for any sign of the kid outside Room 201. After exiting the edge of the Borderlands, he entered the Burbs, a large area of abandoned homes outside of the Old City. Daryl travelled off large streets, choosing to go by the smaller, less used routes.

On his way there, Daryl passed by the old shack a few miles from the apartment. He opened the door and found the old lady hastily drinking a bottle of whiskey. She swallowed greedily while aiming a loaded shotgun at him. He asked her where his hot slice was. She smiled, telling him to be patient, explaining that the best was hard to get on such short notice, that when the package was ready, it would be delivered straight to his apartment. Daryl left, feeling he had been gypped.

He strolled down a paved street past a complex of houses with windows and doors boarded with planks of wood. One of the houses had a pair of eyes watching Daryl. Another had a man perched on a roof with a rifle aimed in the distance. Daryl nodded at them but clutched his weapon tighter. He continued to walk at the same pace, urging his feet to move slow enough to dispel suspicion, but fast enough to get out of there.

Part of the hospital's west wing collapsed when Daryl arrived. Bricks tumbled down from the already broken wall, clumping on the ground, rustling up clouds of dirt. He rounded the side of the building, keeping close to the wall but carefully watching for any falling debris.

Welcoming Daryl was a broken sign, glass shattered inwards and spread around the sidewalk. A fallen light fixture blocked the entrance. There was another that was being held up on one end by a tiny metal coil. The bulbs flickered and Daryl wondered how they were able to afford electricity in a place all the way out here.

A man in scrubs shuffled by, glancing at Daryl from the sides of his eyes. Daryl stared back, trying to refrain giving off threatening looks. He quirked his lips in an attempt to display friendliness but the man sped down a hallway, possibly frightened instead.

He asked around, giving brief descriptions of Merle without divulging his name. The only replies he received were shaking heads and solemn glances. No one had heard of Merle, let alone seen him.

He reached a hallway that echoed sobs. One room had a child strapped to a bed, growling intermittently, and the person who Daryl assumed to be his mother cried from the corner. Another had a man without an arm, whose bandage couldn't keep the blood from pouring out. Daryl ignored the next, forcing his head to look forward. Moans and groans and tears resonated from each and every room.

At the nurses' station, he saw four people in scrubs and a woman in a lab coat. "Seen my brother? He's got the Clap."

She denied seeing Merle but explained that their antibiotic and narcotic supply has been dwindling as of late. He thanked her before she left to tend to her patients. All forty of them.

"If you find any meds that you don't need…"

He scoured the broken hospital wing to find a pile of burnt twigs sitting in ash—in the corner of a room, which smelt of booze. Daryl knew that Merle had been here. But he didn't think his brother would act so stealthily. Each single step he took caused the floor to shake. The ground was unsteady. More bricks fell from the walls.

Frustrated, Daryl decided to continue his search another day. The sun was beginning to set and the hospital was well into the Burbs, close to the Old City. Although he could handle himself, Daryl knew his chances on surviving this deep in the Zone were slim. And the chances of surviving alone at night were worse. Sleeping in the broken wing seemed like a plausible option, but it the crumbling sounds warned him that it would fall any day now.

Somehow, he had found the woman in the lab coat, so he asked her if there was a place he could stay. She brought him to a quiet room nearby the ward entrance. A drape hung in the middle of the room, hiding whatever was on the other side. She pointed at an empty bed, which was surprisingly tidy.

"You're welcome to stay, but if someone attacks, please help us. We don't have much. And we'll be sure to…" she paused. "Give you what you want."

"Hm." Daryl nodded hesitantly.

"Don't worry about making noise. He hasn't woken up yet," she explained. "He's been out for weeks."

Daryl sat on his bed and pulled the drapes slightly to appraise his safety. A scruffy-faced man was his roommate until sunrise. A deputy's outfit hung on the wall, neat and tidy, except for the bullet holes that pierced it. The man was skinny, like a twig. The intravenous had been clamped but was still connected to his body. His hands were strapped to the side rails, his feet stuck out from underneath the blanket's edge. A tube weaved between the thick beard, entering through his nose, filling his gut with fluid from a bag that hung above the bed.

Daryl spied a gossip magazine from before on the man's table and slipped it into his bag.

At least he wasn't sharing a room with someone who had c-diff.

Daryl whispered a good night to his neighbour.

"Sucks to be you."

* * *

Daryl left the hospital midday.

He looked towards the Old City and walked the opposite way, heading out, back to the Borderlands.

He reached the complex of townhouses he passed yesterday. The rooftops were empty, there were no eyes poking out of windows. It was quiet. Daryl immediately moved to one of the houses, crouching down, loading his crossbow. Something was wrong.

Three walkers ambled close by crossing the road with no regard for oncoming traffic. A small mob of teenagers stormed by, easily overpowering the three rotting corpses with kitchen knives and garden hoes. They cheered haughtily kicking the rotten heads with glee.

Daryl immediately jumped behind a large bunch of bushes, peeking through the leaves, assessing the situation. Approximately fifteen youth gathered in the middle of the street, cackling about what Daryl thought was a petty victory. A few wore leather jackets, one of them a skull-shaped visor. Made from a deer, perhaps.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl spotted a huffing figure rolling, jumping, sprinting, and ducking its way down a row of houses, in the opposite direction the group was heading. Daryl wasn't sure how the figure was so quiet, especially with what looked like a full—yes, a silly red hat. Plaid shirt. Dirty red kicks. Daryl almost gasped when he recognized who it was. But by biting his tongue, Daryl succeeded in suppressing any noise he would've made. Any sighs or grunts would attract the unwanted interlopers.

Daryl slyly shifted his way down the long bush to get a closer look at the figure. He brought his head closer into the bush, moving branches out of the way and gazed across the street. The kid stopped at a house, turning to watch the group in the middle of the road.

The teens complained they were hungry, that there was no food left in the area. Daryl gulped, shifting his head around, looking for a way out.

"Spread out!" was the command from the skull girl. "There's gotta be leftovers somewhere around here! I'm cravin' me somethin' sweet!"

Jeers echoed in the street, their cheers reigned loudly as they pumped up their fists. Glenn slinked his way into a backyard. Not a bad plan, Daryl thought. So he did the same, rolling out of the way and jumping into an alley. Shoving his back against the wall, Daryl leaned over, edging his knife to see that the teen was standing where he just was.

Daryl swiftly tiptoed his way to the backyard, jumping the fence, and made his way inside. He climbed to the second floor and noticed that the previous owners had made holes in the walls between each townhouse, connecting them together.

Peering down at the street, Daryl saw the teens spreading out. He needed to take advantage of their distance to escape without drawing attention to himself. The skull girl remained in the middle of the street, cocking a shotgun. Beside her, stood two others. Bodyguards. And in the distance, Daryl saw the kid making a clean getaway into the woods. Glenn turned back, looking in the direction of the complex, unknowingly being watched. Daryl watched the kid adjust his hat before sliding in between the trees.

Daryl looked beyond the forest, searching for a location where the kid was going. It was past a few hills where he saw a large warehouse in the middle of a grassy plain. And past that was the outskirts of the Old City. The stupid kid was going to kill himself. Didn't he know that the City was crawling with walkers?

Daryl rubbed his face and shook his head because both of them were about to do something stupid.

"Foo—!"

Daryl turned to see a teen in with him, a frightened boy weighing no more than a buck twenty-five. He was shaking, holding a knife with an unsteady grip. Daryl jumped, reaching for the teen, wrapping his head in a chokehold. The teen squirmed, flailing, trying to kick his way out of Daryl's grasp, but his actions were futile.

He released his grasp on the kid, allowing the body to fall onto the ground, before peeking out the window. The skull girl was pointing in his direction, barking orders at her followers to flank the target.

Daryl ran, pounding his feet hard, using the hole connecting him to another house. With a twist, Daryl flung his crossbow onto his back, strapping it into place. He unsheathed his knife, gripping it tightly in front of himself, ready to strike.

* * *

The bark dug lightly into Daryl's sweat-soaked shirt. His pants were loud and heavy from his aching lungs. The sun was slowly setting above him, the little light fading away from above the forest ceiling. He took a few minutes to sit down, wiping his knife clean of blood on the grass and catching his breath.

It took him a few minutes, but Daryl admitted that he was an idiot for deciding to follow the kid. While crawling through the thick bush, Daryl rehearsed a script about Glenn being an idiot for going deep into the Zone by himself. He planned to drag the kid back to the Borderlands one way or another.

He moved in the direction of the warehouse, sheathing his blade and equipping his bow. He listened to the sounds of the woods, paying attention to shuffling rocks and snapping twigs. Footprints were scattered lightly into the soft forest floor. Judging from the curvature, Daryl deduced that these tracks were fresh and the person who made them always made sure to check their back.

Daryl determinedly followed them, passing between bushes and crossing over small streams. He skipped the first stream, wary of its contents, but drank at a second when he saw a gerbil sipping at its shore. Daryl filled his bottle to the brim, drinking his fill before he continued his pursuit.

A small patch of grass interrupted the tracks, leading Daryl to become flustered. The grass showed no signs of being trampled, yet the footprints led Daryl to believe that Glenn went straight through them. He crouched down, eyeing the ground for the slightest sign of—there! A few feet away were broken twigs and grass bent in one direction. Quick analysis told him that an animal didn't do this. Must be a person. Or a walker.

The edge of the forest was a short distance away, breaking into tall grass plains with a clear path to the warehouse. But instead of going straight, Daryl noticed the tracks made a turn, travelling alongside the forest perimeter. Daryl stared at the two paths and after a few minutes, followed the prints that he assumed Glenn left behind.

He passed a large tree with a patch of wet dirt between its roots. Daryl held back a smile, quashing his thoughts when he unzipped himself and pissed on the other side.

That's when he heard the screams.

He reached the end of the tree line and kept low to the ground, quickly browsing the fields of tall grass for the sounds' sources. In the middle of a clear path, Daryl saw a man and a woman, reaching with their arms high into the air.

He slid on the ground, crawling towards a large boulder sitting on the edge of the forest. Spying the two, he watched, waiting to see what would happen next. But nothing did. The two continued to scream yet stay in the same position, reaching up and down, as if something was holding them down. Trapped? Daryl frowned, unsure of what to make of the situation. He shook his head and left, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He continued to follow the tracks.

The tracks ended at a small stony path. Daryl followed the path, but from the side of it. Eventually, he found himself at the warehouse's rear. Chatter echoed in the forest and Daryl saw people travelling in and out of the small backdoors. Two men stood at the front, watching everyone who entered.

Daryl quickly fell to the ground, hiding behind a rough bush, waiting, watching.

The people were scattered, in large and small groups. Though they were old and young and from different cultures, all of them wore weapons on their backs and scars on their skin. Daryl's eyes unintentionally focused on a small baseball cap in the middle of the field.

Glenn.

There he was, chatting with a woman with a bloodied katana strapped to her back. The kid waved his hands around, as if he was sharing an epic tale of romance and war, stabbing the air with an invisible sword and holding someone in his arms. She released a puffed-up laugh and patted the Korean's shoulder heavily enough for him to wince under her clasp. The woman handed him a small rectangle wrapped in cloth before leaving the area, heading deeper into the Zone.

Daryl jutted his jaw, doubtful but interested. Because how could a kid like that survive in a world like this?

Glenn gripped the object in his hands tightly, almost removing the back off his back but stopping before he did. The kid looked around slowly, possibly calculating his next move. Instead of putting it away, he shoved it in his pocket. He went inside the warehouse easily; the men guarding the doors moved out of his way without hesitation.

Daryl stood abruptly, causing a trio of older men to stare at him questioningly.

"What are you doing hiding behind them bushes?" one of them asked, while the other two raised fists at Daryl.

Daryl frowned, unsure of how to reply. Chances were he'd be able to take them out—but not without attracting the attention of the crowd mingling beside the warehouse. He quickly glanced between his feet, an old habit he's had ever since he was a child, a tactic used to make himself small.

"Oh." The man laughed haughtily. "You don't need to take care of that out here."

The other two joined in before making their way to the warehouse courtyard. Daryl quickly looked down to see what the man noticed and realized that he forgot to zip himself up after taking a piss. He blushed and frantically closed his zipper before he made his way to the warehouse doors, wondering what the man had meant.

* * *

The men outside the door stared at Daryl, not saying a word. They eyed each other with short gazes at Daryl in between. The tanned one murmured something that caused the other man to stand down. After listening to them spat, Daryl was permitted entrance into the warehouse.

He stepped inside the building before quickly passing cramped and cluttered booths bartering food and clothes. Each one had tattered cloth signs, mismatched wooden structures, and shady people trading goods behind the stalls, calling out to the customers. It was more crowded than Daryl expected. The warehouse was dim, with moonlight piercing dusty windows from the ceiling. The air was damp, smelling of booze and sex. Daryl felt uneasy, Daryl felt dirty.

Travelling between the aisles, he searched for Glenn. There was a stall of rotting vegetables being bought by whoever was desperate enough to eat them. One person took an offer of a half black cabbage for a padlock. Another stall carried weapons of different kinds: a Japanese blade Daryl wasn't familiar with; two baseball bats, a golf club, and a broken hockey stick; a whip; a branding iron; and a set of mismatched kitchen knives. There was one where cans of food were being bartered. There were no signs of the kid anywhere. If he asked around, he would be targeted as unfamiliar with his surroundings, someone that can easily be duped. Luckily for him, his physique lent the idea that he belonged here. Daryl shivered uneasily at the thought.

After realizing that the area he searched wasn't large enough to fit the entire warehouse, Daryl asked one of the vendors if there was something more to this place. He received a cheeky grin and was led behind the aisles. They waved through crowds of rowdy customers, slim hallways, and in and out of stalls, to reach a closed door.

"Just in here," whispered the man, drawing Daryl deeper into the dark corridor, further into the warehouse. "Walk down the hallway and you'll find a curtain. Go past that and you'll find what you'll seek."

And Daryl did as he was told, walking with his fists ready at his sides, ready for possible enemy encounters. Behind a dark curtain were the stalls, booths, and mattresses selling favours and firsts. A woman beckoned from her knees. Daryl looked away. A man nodded at him toughly. Daryl shook his head. Something tugged on his sleeve. Daryl looked down and found a child, probably four or five looking at him with a desperate face. He pulled his arm high above the child's reach and lightly pushed the child aside. He gulped when he reminded himself he was here to find Glenn.

He searched between the aisles and lovenests, bringing his ear close to curtains when he heard moans, peeking inside when everything was quiet. He peeked into the lovenests of many, squirming at a few, gagging at others. Children, men, and women were giving themselves up for anything to survive: food, technology, weapons, protection, blankets, and water. Daryl nearly blushed when he saw a young couple going at it. He growled when he saw a young boy being heavily petted by an older woman. He stared when he saw two men gripping each other tightly, caressing the other in the afterglow, but immediately turned away, his face flushed. There was another section with chains and whips.

Daryl gave up the search when his head began to feel light and his gait uneven. Daryl found no sign of Glenn, which gave him an odd sense of relief. After he dodged countless offers to suck his cock and ride him senseless, he finally reached a large wall with three men standing in front of a closed door.

"What's past that wall?" he asked around, finding people who weren't engaging in sexual acts.

"I don't know, but we're not supposed to talk about it."

"That leads to the end of the warehouse, of course."

"That brings you outside. No one goes out through there, though. We always use the back door."

"Don't go near those doors if you value your already miserable life."

He found a child with a bed, who asked for a can of food from outside her curtain-covered stall. Daryl gave him a few strips of meat and fell onto the bed as the girl drew the curtain. She was about to peel her shirt off when he placed a hand on hers and told her to stop. That what he meant by sleeping was just that.

Daryl slept for a few hours before the girl's mother came barging in, asking why Daryl was taking so long with her daughter. He shook his head, apologizing, staring down at the woman, before he made another round through the warehouse.

After discussing with himself, Daryl realized two things. First, that there were three sections of this warehouse comprising of trading goods, sex, and something beyond the tall walls, something hidden and thoroughly guarded, something potentially dangerous. And that if Glenn wasn't either of the first two sections, then that meant he was in the last.


	7. Between These Lines

Daryl waited the rest of the night, dozing off at the side of the warehouse intermittently, but Glenn never came through the thick metal double doors. So he reluctantly left the warehouse at dawn, travelling back the way he came, through the woods, past the streams, around the housing complex that was taken over, and back to the Domino Block. He stopped at the apartment, resting throughout most of the afternoon, counting the cans and new eggs—only two had been laid since he left—before he made his way to the Hunter's Helm.

On his way through the Wall, he noticed three guards beating people with thick metal pipes. They were naked. They shrieked in pain, arms flailing around, shielding themselves from oncoming blows, but not fighting back. They were screaming for mercy. Daryl eyed them from a distance. Another guard walked up to him, asking for his permit. Daryl complied, showing the guard the necessary documents to get into the Clear.

"What's up with them?" Daryl gestured to the man whose arms were now spread over a woman and a child.

"Zoners," the guard claimed. "Tried to get in without permits. These nasty fuckers are probably bit, ready to turn any second."

But none of them had bites. Daryl nodded remorsefully, watching one woman get kicked repeatedly in the stomach. He walked away, fists clenched, eyes downcast.

* * *

Amy sat at her stand, bored as usual, waiting for someone to take her on as a handler or ask for jobs. She spotted Daryl sneaking by and waved at him, guilting him into speaking to her.

"Hey! It's been forever! Looking for a job?" she asked.

"Err, anythin' new?"

"Nothing really. Just a missing boy, search for masked figures, a request for some deer, new clothes for a fat guy." She sighed. "Oh! And if you're up for it, Jack has a job for you. Bring some medical equipment to a hospital in the Burbs?"

"I'll let him know. Seen the Eye recently? Need to ask him somethin'."

"He's holed up in that bar! You know, the one that's a few minutes away from the Domino Block? The area's not that bad during the day but you never know during the night."

Daryl thanked her and stared at the figure watching Amy from two stalls over. "Move to the Borderlands yet?"

"Yeah, it's not bad. Completely different from what rumours Dale heard."

He looked at her, examining that she truly believed her statement. He waved goodbye, shaking his head as he went. "I'd go home before sundown if I were you."

He reached Zombie Zone Express and asked around for Jack, but neither of the staff working there knew about him. Daryl growled in his throat, explaining that he was sent over from Amy's stand. They seemed clueless so he turned around and began to make his way back to his apartment.

"Oh, you're Horton," the woman realized. Daryl raised a brow, confused. It took him a few moments to understand that's the make of the bow Merle got him, the one he was currently wearing on his back. "Well, we have your pay right here."

"What?"

"Your pay, from when you helped Miguel defend his family."

"Who?"

"The Hispanic boy you helped a long while back. He had a tattoo on his neck."

The woman snapped her fingers and two boys came by, hauling twenty cans of food onto the metal stand. Daryl frowned, staring at the food before him. If this was his pay for his first run with Zombie Zone Express, where did the cans of foods and drinks sitting in the cupboard come from?

* * *

After unloading his pay into his cupboards, Daryl immediately moved the large cans and root beer aside. He stared at the food before him, eyeing each metal container with the utmost scrutiny. There were no holes or cracks. Just a few dents here and there.

"Can't be Merle," he told himself. Merle rarely returned favours so the chances of him leaving perfectly good food for someone else to eat were nil to none.

Nine cans remained pushed to the back of the cupboard. Surely they couldn't be poisoned. The ones he ate hadn't caused Daryl to vomit or feel nauseous. His eyes shot wide open when he realized he had given one away.

He stomped outside, quickly noticing the little girl standing in the hallway. She was smiling.

"What's the matter with you?" he sneered. The girl shyly held her doll. She was slightly nervous but showed no signs of fright from Daryl's physical presence. "Food okay?" She nodded. "No funny stuff, or feelin' sick, anythin' like that?"

The girl blinked repeatedly.

"Seen the Asian boy recently?" Daryl thought of the warehouse. "Is he doin' bad things to you?"

She shook her head, confused, staring at Daryl with something similar to disbelief. No. She was offended. She waved her doll's hand, and then walked down the stairs, leaving a confused Daryl alone.

* * *

The Helm was bustling with more people than usual, though it seemed that the number of hunters were dwindling. They were most likely on missions, since Daryl overheard a few people whispering about hordes of walkers outside the Clear. Though the cops had guns, they weren't trained to deal with the lifeless yet animated corpses. But then again, who was?

Nearby the entrance of the Helm was a scraggy man, shouting to the passers-by about a technology being used to control the walkers, that he saw them use the machine first hand, that he was trying to recreate such technology to prevent such actions in order to return the world to the way it once was.

Daryl eyed the shovel that the man raised into the air, as if the man was leading his troops to battle with a confidence-boosting speech.

"Think he's telling the truth?" someone murmured to Daryl.

"Nah, probably just crazy."

Daryl waved them off and strolled by a weapons store.

The amount of ammunition seemed to be decreasing with each and every pass he made by the store, though the number of guns remained the same. He spotted a few knives, many of the butter variety. The rest of the blades looked dull.

Daryl spoke to the stand's tender. "Lookin' for a whetstone, got any?"

Daryl was shown many varieties of different makes and qualities. He settled on one he liked and offered a squirrel and a chicken egg. The offer didn't satisfy, so Daryl bargained, resulting him in owning the blade sharpener for two squirrels and an old pair of boots. He'd return tomorrow with his payment.

After swerving into the aisle where Fishin' for Gold and Zombie Zone Express stood, Daryl saw a small line developing outside Amy's stall. Three hunters stood behind a beefy cop who leaned onto the stall, speaking as if he knew Amy since before. Standing meekly behind the officer was the woman who lived next door, the little girl's mother. Although she was sweating profusely, she wore a sweater and refused to take it off when the man offered a thinner shirt.

The three hunters in line stared at the one holding them up, who was laughing it up and blatantly flirting. Andrea wouldn't like this one bit. But when Daryl moved closer, he realized that it wasn't Amy manning her stand. It was the woman whose husband had died, the skinny brunette. There she sat, running her fingers through her hair, her child looking up to the large man with glistening eyes, impressed with the stories—what Daryl thought was bullshit—he was feeding them.

Daryl joined the line. After a few minutes, the three hunters grew impatient. The one next in line urged him take a job or leave, threatening the cop with her fists.

"I have a job to fill, dammit!" she yelled, explaining that cops aren't welcome to take jobs here. The other two joined in, jeering at the large man. Daryl just crossed his arms. The woman from next door put on a petty smile and aimed it towards Daryl, cringing at the brisk complaints.

The large man stood tall, flexed his muscles, and turned to the woman, quickly telling her he'd be back in a few hours and that she and her son shouldn't walk home alone. A few lone walkers had been recently sighted in the area, most likely due to a slacking night watch or border patrol—or something like that. The man grumbled, staring each one of the hunters down, lingering his gaze the longest at Daryl.

Daryl sneered, "Wanna piece of me?" The man scowled, leaving in a hurry. "That's right, you ain't so tough."

The shorthaired woman gave Daryl a small smile, nodding as if they shared a secret, and followed the muscular man out of the Helm.

The woman at the front of the line took on two jobs: searching for another missing child and disposing of walkers in an outer Clear neighbourhood. The man behind her managed to complete a job by disposing those who were recently bit into the Zone. He accepted a similar job. The third man returned, claiming to have failed a mission of saving a small community beyond the Clear's boundaries, and explained their land was overrun with walkers. By the time he arrived it was too late. However, he scavenged the area and brought back some extra supplies he didn't need. He shared it with the brunette covering Amy's stall.

Daryl approached the woman, expecting her to remember him after his repeat visits, but it was her child who recognized him. He perked up, asking Daryl about his latest missions, creating sound effects with his mouth and pretending to be a dying walker. The woman hushed her son by pressing the sheriff's hat lower onto his head before she turned to Daryl.

"Dixon, right?" the woman said calmly, warily.

"What of it?" he spouted. "Any jobs?"

"Let's see… clearing land of walkers for three cigarettes? No? How about bringing those who are about to turn into the Zone? Maybe catching a squab for a knife set?"

"Anythin' better than that?"

"Something about medical supplies. You'd have to ask her about that one though, I don't know anything about it."

Daryl frowned, debating to himself whether to take this job or not. The son encouraged Daryl to do it and return with a hundred different stories to share. "Whatever. Let her know I'll take it."

The woman nodded, restraining her son from talking further to Daryl. "It's time to practice your math."

"I miss Duane."

Daryl made a quick round of the building before he left, noticing the vast differences between the Helm and the warehouse, between the Clears and the Zoners. Something didn't sit right with him. Something was happening, but he wasn't sure what.

* * *

The walk to the tavern was uneventful.

He stepped inside to find the usual patrons, other hunters who did jobs through Amy and others at the Helm, a rough group of individuals that bore their weapons proudly. Sitting in the corner he spied the old man nursing a mug that clearly disagreed with his taste buds. Daryl sat down across from him.

"Oh, it's you."

Daryl leaned over, whispering. "I need some intel." He slipped the gossip magazine he swiped from the hospital across the table, towards the old man. "For Amy."

"People are taking permits so they can get out of the Zone. Most of us who moved to the Borderlands still have ours but some people are vanishing and their permits along with them. The point of the permits is to keep people in the Clear safe, to identify who came from the Zone and who came from the Clear—"

Daryl cut him off. "Not what I wanted to hear."

"Well, what do you want to know?" he replied calmly, sipping his mug.

Dale leaned back on his wooden chair, causing it to creak loudly, drawing the attention of the others in the tavern. Some turned away, scoffing at the sight of the old man, while others fixed their eyes on both of them, most with sidelong glances.

Daryl spoke in more hushed tones. "Know anythin' about a warehouse in the Burbs?"

Dale choked on his drink and sputtered it all over Daryl's face. Apparently, he was caught off guard. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand and gave a look that Daryl knew all too well.

"Where did you hear about this? Daryl, it's a—"

"Don't try to fool me, old man. You fully well know what I'm talkin' about." Daryl glared, jabbing the man's chest with his finger. "Now spill! And don't say my name out loud!"

"It's just like the Helm. But there are things that happen there that make me question if the people that go there are still human."

"Yeah, yeah, I know about the sex already. Tell me something I don't know. What's at the back? The part that comes after the sex?" All Daryl received was a gasp. "Fine. Seen my brother recently?"

The answers never came. Dale sat there with his eyes glossed over, shaking his head over, and over, and over, mumbling about walkers and fornication.

* * *

The fat man from the room next door passed by Daryl, sneering. He had a contusion around one of his eyes, darkening with each and every blink. The man gritted his teeth, lugging a seemingly heavy bag of food down the stairs. Daryl sneaked a glance into the man's slightly open bag and noticed the cans teetering inside—the same ones he had given the weeping woman.

After grabbing another can from his cupboard, Daryl placed it on his neighbour's 'You're Not Welcome' mat, and knocked on the door three times before he went back to the apartment.

Daryl returned to the apartment, the bedroom, like he always did. Alone.

* * *

Daryl groaned, lying on his bed. Tallies dug shallowly into his wall. He was too lazy to add up the days. He cursed himself for not bunching them up by fives so they'd be easier to count.

The food supply wasn't going to run short anytime soon, so he decided to crack open a few cans to reward himself. He flicked the lid of one of the cans of root beer and sighed when he heard released the fizzy sound he never thought he'd miss so much. He propped himself on his shoulders, gulping down the warm but sweet drink.

Daryl's boots landed on the little stump he used as a footstool then he crossed his legs, leaning back on the worn-out couch and avoiding the sprigs that stuck out. Although night was about to arrive, the heat still remained. His window was shoved open, allowing the air to circulate, his lights were shut off, and his blinds were pulled down, protecting him from the apparently harsh rays of sunset.

But none of those shielded him for what was about to come next. His door cried out when it was beaten heavily by pounding fists. Daryl whipped his head toward it when he recognized the drunken slurs.

"Hey, Daria! Open up!"

Daryl rushed to the door, placed his foot on the end, and opened it slightly. Foul odours filled his nose and he immediately wanted to retch for before him stood a booze-filled brother with rotting squirrels stitched together by their tails and heads around his neck.

Suddenly, Merle began to stumble, forcing Daryl off-guard, as he pushed his way into the apartment. He fell face first onto the floor, releasing bile-coloured barf all over the floor as his face smushed against the floor. Daryl groaned, wondering how the hell he was going to clean this mess. Merle raised his head up, trying to get back onto his feet. Hoisting himself onto his elbows, Merle tried to bring himself back up, but he slipped on chunks of—Daryl didn't even want to know.

"You've got squirrels around your neck."

"What of it? It's to scare them coloured people away," Merle mumbled, his mouth making ripples in the pool of vomit. "They's scared of anythin' these days."

Daryl sighed, "Come on, let's get you all cleaned up." He lifted his brother, forcing Merle to drop the bag on his back and swing an arm around his shoulders. "Washroom's this way."

He unceremoniously dropped Merle onto the toilet, instructing him to wait there until he came back. Daryl found a decently clean rag from his room, dipped it in some water, and tossed it at Merle.

"I'll go make you some food."

Crouching down, Daryl used his blade to prod at Merle's bag. After feeling that it was filled with small objects, Daryl decided it was safe to use his hands. Inside were plastic tins of hydromorphone and antibiotics, a lighter, a half empty bottle of water, three handguns, and keys to his motorcycle. But Daryl hadn't heard its mighty roar from outside the window.

Daryl returned to the kitchen, pulling out a can, piercing it open with a walker-gut-free knife and putting it on the broken stove. He grabbed a few pieces of wood that he stored under the sink and placed it under the can, and set it aflame with the lighter he found in Merle's bag.

He walked away from the kitchen to see how his brother was faring. He was sure Merle did squat while he was gone, and probably fell off the toilet. He wondered how Merle even came back. And where the hell he was.

Daryl was halfway down the hall when he heard a familiar knock.

"I've got the stuff!" was the call from the other side of the door. Daryl frowned, knowing that it couldn't be his door that was being knocked on. But after a few more knocks, he realized it was. "…I wouldn't be knocking this late... C'mon, man! Open up! I've got something for you!"

"Looks like we got us some company, lil' brother!" Merle cheered, rubbing his hands together.

Daryl's lips pressed together tightly. Unsure of what to do, his eyes shifted back and forth. His senses heightened. Daryl began preparing himself for what he asked for when he bargained with the old woman in a shack ages ago: some excitement. He rushed to the washroom to find his brother slowly standing up.

"I got it," Daryl grumbled, pushing his brother back down onto the toilet. "Don't want you pukin' anymore than you already have."

"What's the matter? Don't want me to know what's goin' on out there? What's the lil' lady look like? She sounds like a firecracker!"

Daryl ignored the comment while trying to compose himself in front of the front door. If the person he thought was out there then he had to act fast. He slid his hand deep into his pocket and retrieved the condom, squishing it between his shaking fingers. He gripped the knob, unsure if he was ready to turn it open. He stood there, listening to Merle's demands that the door be opened now and the knocks that just kept coming.

Quickly reassuring himself, Daryl slowly began to unlock the door, turning the knob as like he was hacking a safe. The door opened wide and Daryl saw an Asian woman with large breasts clad in black. In one hand was a greasy cardboard pizza box branded with some cheesy Italian name he'd never even heard of and on her head was a dinky red cap.

"Hey, big boy," she announced with her sultry voice, stretching a leg high onto the doorframe. Her bosom bounced, threatening to pop out of the tight leather top.

"Who the fuck are you?" Daryl responded, dumbfounded.

"Darlena got me a homecomin' present!" Merle laughed. "It's about time you became a man! C'mere, babe! I'm in the back!"

The woman smiled bashfully at Daryl, tugging at her own shirt seductively. "You ordered the best slice this side of the apocalypse. Well it's here, hot and ready! Straight from the Warehouse!"

A large frown made itself a home on Daryl's face. When he spoke to that old lady about wanting a hot slice, this wasn't the one he was hoping for—

Something quietly shuffled behind the woman. Daryl stared beyond her frame and realized that it actually, finally happened, that his door was the one that was knocked. He spied Glenn shuffling his feet behind the woman. Daryl stared hard, willing him, commanding him to look. But Glenn rubbed the back of his neck and didn't meet Daryl's eye, choosing to analyze the carpet's patterns instead.

The woman winked at Daryl and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pushing him inside. Her other hand held the knob, closing the door slowly. He yelled, warning her that his brother was due for another emesis any second now. The woman laughed, running into Merle's open arms before pushing him back onto the toilet. She ignored his warnings and unzipped Merle, who spewed out racist commentary but encouraged her to suck his dick regardless.

Daryl shoved his foot to stop the door from closing. Daryl opened it wide, frowning when he saw Glenn go down the stairs with a faltering smile aimed between his worn out kicks, when he saw the tears in Glenn's shirt, the dirt and grime and blood, that covered his skin.

"Took forever to get her here," Glenn murmured. "Worst delivery ever."

It suddenly came to him in a flash of guilt.

Daryl realized that the reason the kid risked his life by going to deep into the Zone by himself; that the reason the kid travelled past those teen cannibals that could've eaten him alive, the reason the kid trekked through miles of walker-infested woods and dangerous terrain, and the reason that Glenn entered the warehouse that smelled like sex and death, was all because of him.


	8. This Burning Desire

"Hey, kid!" Daryl finally yelled when Glenn was halfway down the stairs. He sprinted to the wooden railing and beckoned the kid to look up.

Glenn flexed his neck, a distant look spread across his face, a worried one.

"Get your ass in here, lil' brother! Merle's gonna teach you what it means to be a man!" Merle laughed. "Time for you to stop lookin' at them pretty boys and be with a real woman!"

"I ain't no fag!" Daryl yelled back loudly, strong enough for his throat muscles to tense, for his veins to be visible. But he never took his eyes off Glenn, Glenn who looked away, visibly upset.

Merle called from the washroom again, teasing Daryl, advising him to stop pretending and to just drop the act.

Daryl gulped, unsure of what to say. So, they stood, looking at each other, neither one wanting to make the first move, both wishing the other would do it instead. Glenn regulated his breath, trying to control himself, as if he was breathing too fast. Daryl clenched his fists and crossed his arms, determined not to back down.

Daryl stared at Glenn, suspicious yet enticed. "So, what brings you to this part of Area S?"

"Visiting a… friend. Why don't you go say hi to yours?" Glenn scorned, his words dripping with distaste, cutting the conversation off quick. Minutes passed and Merle's credulous groans began to wear on Glenn, who cringed at each sound. "Fine, you caught me." Glenn sighed, rolling his eyes as he spoke, "I'm secretly part of the mafia."

Daryl snorted at the absurd notion. "Yeah. And my brother's a government sniper."

"Look, I need to go," Glenn began. "It's getting dark outside and I really can't stay here." He chuckled hesitantly. "I mean, look at me!" Glenn spread his arms, allowing Daryl to take a good long look.

"I don't get it." Daryl fought the urge to lick his dry lips.

"I may be skinny but I'm no Bruce Lee."

"So what?" Daryl spouted knowingly. He thought of how Glenn was somehow able to haul the farm job pay from beyond the Clear to the Borderlands, how Glenn was able to blend in with the dangerous crowd at the warehouse and come out unscathed, how Glenn managed to bring that whore in heels out of the Burbs and into the Borderlands. "You got spunk."

Glenn looked doubtful. He turned, walking down the stairs. Daryl followed behind quickly, gaining on the kid step after step. They reached the building entrance and stood underneath a flickering light.

Glenn whined. "Aw, man! It's pitch black!" He began to walk towards the watchtower gate but stopped and shot straight up, as if he just realized something. "I can't leave now!"

"What?" Daryl scoffed. "You want me to walk you home or somethin'?"

Glenn sputtered when he heard Daryl's request, staring at him in disbelief, eyes shifting all over Daryl. "Dude, I'm not some girl you can just take home! And this was totally not a date!" Glenn abruptly turned and muttered to himself quietly.

"As if I'd pick you up," Daryl sneered.

Glenn crossed his arms, abruptly turning away to gaze at the distance. Daryl did the same but stared in the opposite direction. Daryl frowned, chuckled, and then frowned again. Glenn's breathing was audible, slow enough for Daryl to count each and every one.

"Good night, Dixon. Have fun with your guest." Glenn stressed the last word, emphasizing the single syllable with disgust. He pointed at the condom that Daryl had crumpled in his hand. "I'd use that if I were you."

Daryl shoved his hands down his pockets when Glenn began to walk away. Daryl growled, realizing it was too dark to get a good look at the kid's equipment. But from what he knew about Glenn, it was that he was prepared, feisty, and knew how to get in and out. Somehow, Daryl knew the kid would be all right.

Glenn stood underneath the watchtower, speaking to whichever guard was on duty tonight. Daryl watched the boy until he was immersed in darkness. Daryl waited, wanting to know if Glenn would turn around and wave goodbye—he didn't.

* * *

Luckily, Merle had somehow knocked his head onto the sink and he passed out before the scantily clad leather woman could get her hands on him. She moved to Daryl immediately after she saw Merle down for the count. But after looking at her sickening and paling skin, hearing her coughs and deep wheezing, and smelling her foul stench, he shook his head grimly. He let her sleep on the couch. He left the apartment before sunrise, leaving them behind. Daryl left a small note about her condition. But he knew Merle could deal with her later.

* * *

"Hi, glad to be working with you." The man offered his hand to Daryl. "Why'd you take the job?"

"Needed the distraction." Daryl grunted, reluctantly shaking the hand.

"Well, I'll do—"

"Whatever, man. Just tell me what we need to do."

"First, we pick up a bag of medicine from a man beyond the Clear. It should only be two days to reach the cabin."

It took them four days to reach the pickup point.

The man, who called himself Scout, looked just as old or perhaps older than Daryl, moved quite slow, taking too many breaks for Daryl's liking. He had dark skin and short black hair but it was the wrinkles around his eyes worried Daryl. Scout talked often, loudly, trying to coax Daryl to join the conversation but Daryl limited his responses to be a maximum three words long. Daryl slept with his bow loaded.

The first night they encountered a small swarm of walkers, ten in total, just outside the Clear. Scout proved to be of no use, having no previous experience in combat. Daryl ended up having to slay the dead while he forced Scout to run around as bait. Three were taken down with his crossbow, one by decapitation, two with his knife, and the other four by stomping on their soft crunchy heads.

"Don't you work for Zombie Zone Express? Why the hell are we goin' beyond the Clear?"

"I don't ask questions, Mr Hunter. I just do my job."

On the second, Scout and Daryl encountered a woman in the middle of a forest. She pleaded for them to take her to wherever they were going, claiming that it was better than where she was coming from. Her home had apparently been overrun with walkers overnight and nearly no one managed to escape. They travelled together but around the campfire, she discovered they were heading in the direction she was coming from, so she stole Scout's bag and disappeared by morning.

"I trusted her…"

"You only knew the stupid bitch for a few hours."

The third was more of the first.

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

"When I was bein' attacked the first time they came around. Where'd you learn to be such a wimp?"

Daryl had to share his food and water with Scout, who although was familiar with being beyond the Clear, was too friendly. Daryl realized that the amount of food they had would not last, so he spent hours tracking animals for food. Scout often tripped, scaring the prey away by crumpling leaves and snapping twigs with each misstep. He spoke to Daryl as if they were best friends since childhood, only making Daryl want to raise his guard even more. Repeatedly, Daryl told Scout to shut up, not wanting to attract attention but the man continued to speak, so Daryl moved ahead and led Scout with his crossbow raised. Scout trailed behind.

Judging by the amount of stumps and the lingering sawdust smell, they reached a land that was recently cleared of trees. Rotting bodies were strewn around, a warning. The cabin was situated on a slightly steep hill. Although Scout was tired, Daryl urged the man forward, often poking him with his crossbow.

"I don't want to get stuck out here another night longer than I have to."

Scout responded by scampering faster. "It's fine," he spoke in between pants, "We can see anyone or anything since there aren't any trees."

"But we can't see what's above us," Daryl explained. "Keep it movin'."

They reached the top in the late afternoon.

The cabin seemed to have been built using the trees of the surrounding area, complete with windows shutters that opened and closed from the inside. There were neat dirt paths diverging from the front door. The paths either led to important places or served to confuse visitors—visitors that could think.

Scout knocked on the door lightly. "We're here to pick up the medicine!"

There was no immediate response, so Scout shrugged at an unimpressed Daryl. Daryl stepped away from the cabin, searching the area for any movement, human, walker, and anything in between.

"Medicine? We don't got any medicine here!" was the gruff response.

Scout strolled to Daryl, obviously confused. "I don't know what to say."

"You better say somethin' that made this four day trek worth it." Daryl pushed Scout's shoulder. "Get your ass over there."

Scout paused, unsure of what to say before he knocked on the door. He knocked again, outlining the details of the job, explaining who hired, and where they were going to deliver it. He received no response and walked away, defeated. The grass felt soft and moist to Scout when he sat on the edge of the hill.

Daryl growled and began to bang on the door. "Open up! I spent four days muckin' about to get here and don't want to say any longer than I have to!"

Another voice shouted from within. "So what?"

"We want the package!" Daryl explained, banging his fist on the door. "Give me the stuff!"

A hush echoed inside the cabin followed by quiet chattering. Daryl clenched his crossbow's strap and walked to where his partner was sitting. Annoyed, Daryl paced back and forth behind Scout.

Scout sighed. "Stop moving. They could shoot us at any time from within that safehouse."

"Well then it's better than being a sitting target."

"You, the second voice," someone called. Daryl perked up, listening to the person speak. "Come here. Now."

Daryl strapped his bow on his back and placed a hand on his knife when he reached the door. Scout watched from his position. It slowly opened, showing a young man and woman, both with soot on their faces.

"Here's the package." The woman handed Daryl a small bundle of glass bottles wrapped in a tiny cloth. "Careful, don't break the glass. The substances must be mixed in the proper order or it will be useless. We put instructions for the pharmacist inside. Be there when they mix it. To make sure the job's complete."

"Make sure to bundle it tightly, clinking glass raises suspicion," the male explained. "And whatever you do, don't drink anything."

Daryl nodded, taking the parcel and holding it tightly in his arms. "Where this thing goin'? I'm just the muscle."

"Area S. To the hospital in the Burbs. Half broken building." The woman gave him the smallest smile. "You can't miss it."

"Can't we stay here for the night?" Scout pleaded.

The man fielded the question. "You're welcome to stay, but you'll have to stay outside."

Daryl nudged Scout with the edge of his bow, directing him away from the cabin. "I don't know anything about these people and I don't know this area. We have to take turns at night to watch our backs." When they were at a distance Daryl thought was far enough, he continued, "And our fronts."

The night, although surprisingly cool, was uneventful.

Daryl snored through most of it and stirred when he felt the sun's warmth. He grew angry when he realized Scout forgot to wake him up to for his shift. He searched around and found the older man lying against a tree, mouth open wide, drool dripping alongside his face and onto the ground. Daryl kicked him awake.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

They reached the Clear within a few days, making their way to the broken down building where Daryl began his first mission with Zombie Zone Express.

"The trip back is always faster than the trip there," Scout stated, out of breath. Daryl rolled his eyes. "I need to go talk to a friend first. Just hang out around here until I come back."

"I'll be at the Helm," Daryl said instead.

Daryl watched the man jog off behind one of the broken buildings.

The buildings proved to be good places to hide. The Clear mentality forced people to think that ruins were dangerous while those from the Zone knew that it's living in close quarters with other people. Daryl recalled the place he stayed in that one night where he found the stockpiles of food. He shrugged, deciding to go there.

The door this time was unlocked, so Daryl began a quick through the room. He checked the usual places but was unable to find the cans of food he found the last time. Instead, he detected a hooked machete underneath the couch. The blade was dark, small but sharp. It seemed like a good weapon, but based on the quick scan of the room, it was probably the only weapon this guy had. Daryl returned it where he found it.

Daryl found a small bunch of semi-clean clothes underneath one of the cushions. He dug through the pile, lifting article after article of clothing. A shirt with a few stains of blood, a worn-out pair of jeans, two thin raincoats, four pairs of mismatched socks, and clean white briefs and questionable striped boxers sat at the bottom of the pile. He didn't touch those. He took a pair socks though, one black, the other grey, leaving the colourful ones and the ones with cars on them behind.

Daryl shoved it deep into his pocket and stared into the broken mirror. It looked like he either was compensating for something he didn't have or was sporting a hard-on. Daryl frowned and split the pair of socks, folding them neatly and placing one flat in each of his side pockets.

He glanced outside the door when he heard a sound. Daryl threw himself against the wall and peered into the alley through the window. Neither direction had anyone in them. He slid along the floor, loading his bow. Edging his way to hide behind the large shelf, Daryl eyed the door he left open.

Surely the door would have been locked.

"Unless he's coming back!" Daryl cursed when he heard footsteps. There were two ways out: through the tiny window he possibly couldn't fit in and the way he came in. Daryl made his way to the door, ready to move until he realized, judging by the footsteps and voices, there were two or more people headed his way.

He stared at every possible hiding place. The only viable one for someone his size was in the large wardrobe full of miscellaneous items that were although invaluable to Daryl, were probably of high regard to the right people: books, music players, and handheld game consoles. He slid down, resting his ass on _The Case of the Missing Man_. Pulling his knees close, he made himself smaller, less easy to spot, all while contemplating the value of each item he was sitting on, what they would go for in the Helm.

Voices echoed through the room and the sounds from inside were muffled, making it hard for Daryl to discern who was speaking. Leaning close, Daryl was able to look through crack and one of the people in the room. Daryl held a gasp down when he saw one of them.

"Something didn't seem right," Scout explained. "I don't trust my partner. It was too easy."

Daryl frowned at Scout's confession, trying to understand which of his actions raised suspicion.

"Everyone has secrets," the other voice agreed.

Scout scratched behind his ear. "I guess you can say that."

"Don't worry about it. Look, I'll keep an eye out for you to make sure everything's fine."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

A quiet chuckle. "I'll signal you if something's gone bad."

Scout thanked the other person with him, a man, young, Daryl decided based on the pitch of the voice.

"You better get moving then."

"I'll head out first thing tonight." Daryl sees a sleeved arm grab the machete from under the couch. "I need to stock up on some stuff first. Don't worry about the door. Just leave the room unlocked. And don't forget, 'I'm watching you.'" The other person laughed.

Scout stood in the room and kicked an empty can of root beer on the ground. "Well, there's only one way to find out."

When Scout disappeared from his view, Daryl waited a few minutes until he believed the room to be clear. Slowly pushing the cabin door, he waited to see if it would attract anyone's attention. He continued, swinging it open in short distances, until it fully opened. He was alone.

He grabbed his blade and snuck off, checking the knife's reflection when he reached corners to see if anyone was on the other side. The area around the building was more of the same, free of bodies, except those of a few walkers groaning on the ground limbless. Sidestepping the bodies, he rushed towards the Helm, to arrive before Scout.

* * *

He panted heavily and slowed his pace once the hunters' building was in sight. Normal but deeper respirations were key. Nodding at familiar faces, Daryl made his way into the building, keeping an eye out for the distrusting man but couldn't find him. He chatted up the brown-haired boy sitting behind Amy's stand while he waited.

"Do you ever go into the Zone?" the child asked.

"Yeah, it's part of the job."

"My dad was shot down in the Zone. Mom says there are tons of walkers there. Seen any?"

"Where's your mother?"

"She's out getting lunch from Shane. He's a cop. My dad was one too. But Shane's a good guy to watch over us after my dad died." The kid reached out towards the pistol on Daryl's waist. "Can I see that? It's different from my dad's. He had a revolver."

Daryl sighed softly, looking at the kid reminiscently. Daryl unclipped his holster but closed it back up when he saw the dishevelled woman returning to the stand. "Your mom's comin' over."

"Carl! I thought I told you to stay in the house!" she raged.

"Shouldn't be leavin' your kids out in the open," Daryl warned, waving off her credulous looks when he spotted Scout at the end of the aisle.

Scout met him halfway. "It's too late deliver the package now. We leave at first light tomorrow. Meet me at the broken building where you first met me."

* * *

Daryl returned to the apartment and noticed it had been trashed. He sighed, shaking his head as he picked up pieces of broken furniture and tossed it in the growing pile of garbage. Poking his head into the room Merle claimed but rarely used, he found a dishevelled bed and an unopened condom on top. Daryl felt his shoulders sink. There were no other signs of Merle's stay except the vomit stain he left on the ground and the shit-covered shower. From what he saw in the hospital a while back, Merle was probably used that as a pit stop between here and wherever the hell he went to. A good choice, because Merle liked to terrorize nurses, swipe drugs, and cop a few feels.

Some cans of food were missing; the rest of his dried meat was gone. He wasn't sure whether Merle or the woman took it. Probably both. Daryl grunted, punching the wall with his fist, which caused a loud sound and a small hole. His fist was stuck in the drywall cracks, so when he pulled it out, the hole became bigger. Daryl thrust his back onto a wall and slid down against it, bringing his knees to his chest. He calmed his mind and slipped a hand between his thighs, ritually returning to his mental state of Zen.

* * *

Scout seemed more enthusiastic about completing the job than Daryl. He spoke of it loudly, excitedly. Daryl filtered the noise and nodded absently, scanning the distance. The bow's string was taut, ready to snipe someone down.

"What's the Zone like?" Scout asked nervously, eyeing Daryl's bow. "Is it different from beyond the Clear?"

Daryl shrugged. "Far as I know, it's the same thing. Except dead are actually the living. Mostly everyone's waiting until they pass on from this world."

"How morbid."

"You not familiar with the Zone?"

"I usually take trips in and beyond the Clear. It's… different, to go somewhere I rarely go."

"If you don't know anythin' about the Zone why didn't they assign me someone else?"

"Our best Zoner likes to work alone. Thinks it's more efficient than working with someone else. No one to slow him down, I suppose. Besides, he's busy."

Daryl frowned, trying to understand why the alternative to Scout being his partner was the person who knew the Zone the best. Maybe it had something to do with the package.

When they reached the Burbs, Daryl forced the man to shut up, advising the man that stealth was key in survival. By walking briskly, he forced the older man to move forward, implying the man keep up with his pace or be left behind. Scout stumbled with the abrupt push, waving his hands around in an attempt to balance himself. He regained his footing and immediately checked the glass vials inside his bag, ensuring they were not leaking or broken.

"Why are you being so pushy all of a sudden?"

Daryl growled. "Just want to get this mission over with. I've got better things to do."

A smile spread across Scout's face. But it disappeared as fast as it came. Scout pressed his lips tight. "Where are we headed?"

"It's this way, just through this neighbourhood," Daryl directed. "Keep a look out. Last time I was here there was a bunch of rowdy kids. Don't want to cross their paths again."

But they did.

Daryl stopped at the edge of the treeline, Scout a short distance behind. The small housing complex that Daryl had come across had been covered with spray paint and warnings. The teens had marked this place as their new territory and judging from the large amount of boxes and guards outside, they didn't plan on leaving any time soon. Daryl found them to be surprisingly organized, walking around in pairs within seeing distance from one another.

"What's that?" one of the teens shouted, pointing in Daryl's general direction.

Daryl ran back, hissing for Scout to follow. "We'll have to go around, take the long way."

The teens had managed to follow them until Daryl created false tracks for them to lead them astray.

Daryl and Scout holed up in a small house a few blocks away from the skull girl's complex. Scout discovered a small doorway at the side of the house leading to a cramped basement.

In the middle of the room, sitting on a wooden chair, was a dead woman with a bullet hole through her brain. The skin had rot, creating a foul stench that permeated their clothes. Her clothes were ripped to shreds, her pants wrapped around what were once her legs. Thin strands of hair fell from the lacerated scalp. Blood painted the seats and the walls.

"Suicide," Daryl explained, gesturing at the woman's head then the blood behind her. "Look at the bullet's trajectory."

Scout rubbed his chin. "Or maybe she was forced to." Daryl frowned at Scout, who only shook his head. "What?"

There were a few jars of water sitting in the corner. Scout was tempted to try it, but Daryl managed to persuade him to avoid drinking even the tiniest sip.

"Too convenient."

Daryl slept on the other side of the basement, the dead woman separating him and Scout, with his blade in hand and crossbow loaded. He stared at the man across the room, the man who spouted distrust from last night. Daryl slept lightly, keeping his ears open for the slightest of sounds.

The groans alerted Daryl. He lifted his knife with one hand and his bow with another. The room was empty aside from Scout and their dead roommate. He stood, made his way around the corpse, and nudged the man's foot with his own. Scout gasped.

"Shh. We got us some company."

Daryl lifted the metal door above his head slightly and peeked out of the basement. Walkers had them surrounded. He counted. Six. Informing Scout of the situation, Daryl asked for his suggestions.

"We don't have much supplies left. We have to reach the hospital and return to the Clear by nightfall."

They ate while Scout formulated a plan: open the hatch and silently escape to the other side of the house and from there, they'd make their way to the hospital unnoticed. Daryl agreed, deciding that was, sadly, the best course of action.

Daryl counted down from three, pushing the hatch open at zero, only to find the hatch surprisingly heavy. He forced it open, sending a walker flying a few feet away from the basement entrance. The rest of the geeks heard their companion's groan and turned towards it, noticing the fresh bodily tissues of Daryl Dixon.

"Climb up! New plan!" he yelled. "Don't die."

He shot one in the head, pulling his knife on another. Three others soon crowded around him. Scout was off to the size, trying to lure the one that had fallen away from Daryl. Daryl kicked one in the stomach, pushing it back a short distance. He lifted his leg, hoping to force another one back, but it grabbed at his leg, almost getting a hold of him.

"No time to reload!" Daryl informed, turning to get a quick look at Scout.

The older man was stomping on the walker's back and stabbing it repeatedly with the small knife, trying to force it to stick to the ground. But the being was hungry, determined to get a bite of the man's flesh. Scout managed to subdue the creature. He sighed in relief, stepping away from the fallen corpse. Something rustled behind Scout, so he turned, and Daryl saw: a large group of walkers, ten or twenty, that Daryl knew he couldn't take on from this close of a range, especially with a useless partner.

"Incoming!" Daryl shouted as he ran towards the man, pointing behind him. Scout turned, gasping when he saw the sight. He sat there, wiggling in fear, until Daryl grabbed the back of his shirt, hoisting him up. "Move! Now! We can't take them all like this!"

They ran.

Hard and fast they sprinted. After a few feet, Daryl could hear Scout heaving from behind him. He gritted his teeth when he realized he had to stop for the man. They stopped a short distance later.

"Thanks." Scout groaned in between pants. "I thought you were going to leave me back there."

Daryl looked at him curiously. "I'm supposed bring you and the bottles to the hospital. Ain't letting you die on my watch."

The detour around the housing complex took longer than expected. According to Scout's broken watch and the sun, it was definitely past three. The heat beat on them relentlessly. There was no cool breeze to relieve them of the humidity. They sat underneath a tree every so often, conserving energy, minimizing the amount of fluid lost through sweat. Daryl shot down a squirrel and shared it. Although their hunger wasn't quenched, the stillness of the forest informed Daryl that there were no prey within his vicinity. They continued their journey on empty stomachs.

Scout sighed in relief when Daryl explained that the hospital was just past this hill.

"Smoke." Daryl pointed towards the thick dark clouds in the air.

Scout's worry accidentally escaped his mouth. "The signal!"

He turned towards Daryl, glaring intensely. Reaching into his pocket, Scout pulled out a small knife then stared at Daryl's bow, which was loaded and ready to fire. Scout kept his himself a short distance away but continued to walk. So Daryl followed, glancing at the man every few seconds. They trekked up the grassy slope, pressing onward.

When they reached the top, the man fell down onto his knees. Daryl did so as well, but he quickly stood up, clutching his fists and breathing heavily, when he saw that the hospital was on fire.


	9. Just Like Me

Scout wanted to run to the hospital, but Daryl grabbed his shirt and held him back, shaking his head repeatedly. They waited on the hill, listening to the screams, watching the flames eat the bricks and bodies alive. The large flames subsided after a few hours. Not a single person escaped hospital while they watched.

"This isn't right. That couldn't have been…" Scout whimpered, wiping something that looked like tears from his eyes. Probably from the smoke.

"Been what?" Daryl questioned. The signal?

Scout bit his lip. "Nothing."

"Let's go take a look," Daryl suggested with a raised brow.

"No!" Scout jumped, raising his small knife at Daryl. "Get away from me! You did this!"

"I was with your stinkin' face the whole time. How the fuck was it me?" A questioning look spread across Daryl's face. "What're you goin' to do, Paula Deen? Butter me up?"

The man glanced back and forth between his knife and Daryl's arsenal of weapons: a loaded crossbow, two blades, and a gun. He shook his head, sprinting as fast as he could, away from the hunter and into the trees, not once looking back. Daryl stood on the hill, perturbed.

"Guess I'll go check the place out myself then."

Daryl reached the hospital entrance, the sides littered with smouldering debris. The lights were broken on the floor, thin plastic melted into deformed obtuse shapes. Lying in the middle of the hall was a body that was burnt so deeply, the only thing Daryl recognized that it had the shape of a human.

The flesh was charred from the flames' intensity, searing the body's exterior. Although the flames were gone, the body still sizzled, as if it was being cooked from the inside. Daryl gritted his teeth at the smell of cooked meat—foul yet enticing. Furiously, he shook his head.

In the ward closest to the entrance, Daryl found a flaming walker chewing on a barbecued being. The fire sustained life by burning the walker's clothes and its flesh. Daryl pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose, a feeble attempt in protecting his lungs. Daryl shot it in the head, using his boots to press the head down in order to retrieve his arrow, and rushed out of the room as soon as possible, closing the door behind him.

Most of the smoke had dispersed but Daryl wasn't sure if inhaling burnt walker would cause him to turn. He held his shirt above his nose. On a small cart outside one of the rooms he found a respirator. He strapped it on tight and ventured deeper into the hospital. There were small patches of ash scattered throughout the hospital, as if something had been planted there.

He found other bodies in a similar state: burned flesh trapped in skeletons' jaws. Women and children were not spared in the fire's path and it appeared as if the walkers weren't flame-retardant either.

The ward he visited was more of the same. Each room had a burnt being lying on a metal frame of a bed while some had other bodies lying on the ground. Some had missing limbs, some were opened up and burnt on the inside as well. Daryl poked his head into the room he stayed overnight and noticed the comatose man was missing.

After completing a search throughout the hospital, Daryl reached a conclusion: there were no survivors—dead or alive.

* * *

Daryl sat on the edge of the chair, leaning back, staring at the dark sky above him. The moon's light barely pierced the thick clouds, the stars hid behind their veil. The night was cool and the window was propped open. He dipped a spoon into a warm tin of soup, making sure to savour every bite. Bringing it to his mouth, Daryl licked the spoon all over with his tongue, sucking it dry after swallowing the chunks of meat and vegetables. Aside from thinking, most of his time was spent using his tongue, licking the spoon clean.

Theo paced the Domino Block fence, shotgun in hand, searching for broken chains or suspicious walker or human activity. Someone screamed loud enough for him to hear. The voice was deep, leading Theo to believe that it belonged to a man. He pulled out a small radio, reporting the noise to the head guard before he stared out into the darkness.

Daryl called out to him. "Hey!"

Theo turned to see a roughened up redneck wave from outside the window. He strolled down the alleys behind the buildings to stare up at the man. "Dixon."

"That Korean boy. You let him in even but he doesn't live here." Daryl shouted in a neutral tone.

Theo frowned, jutting his shoulders outwards. "Just helping the kid out. It's hard to make a living these days." He looked down at his feet then shifted to look at Daryl determinedly. "It's not as easy for people who aren't like you."

"Like me? You don't know shit about me," Daryl snipped.

Theo shook his head, mumbling that he knew enough, and continued his patrol. He called out from afar, "Take a look around, man! You're the one who doesn't belong!"

Across the alley and a floor above, Daryl spied Andrea and Amy scurrying about in their room. Andrea hoisted a rifle pretending to shoot a target across the room. Amy ruffled her hair in front of a mirror. The Eye was nowhere to be seen.

Naked, Daryl slid onto his bed, revelling in fact that this was the first night he didn't hear sniffles coming from the next apartment over.

* * *

The morning came with an intense heat that made Daryl feel uncomfortable. The blanket was wet and sticky. The mattress damp, bent under Daryl's weight. He swung his legs off the bed, scratched his balls, and then pulled on the cleanest pair of pants he could find. Daryl slipped on the pair of socks he swiped from the broken building, surprised at the softness.

A quick count of inventory showed that Daryl was missing a few cans of food and an older brother. Merle's bag was missing, which only meant he had vanished once again. Daryl sighed, shaking his head, and wondered how long it would take this time before his brother returned.

He stepped outside his apartment and locked the door behind him. There, standing at Room 201 with a baseball cap on his head and a cardboard box in hand was not Glenn, but the brown-haired boy, Miguel.

"Open up!"

The door opened and the boy was yanked inside by the front of his shirt. Daryl caught his eye and glared.

Hard.

* * *

After he explained how the hospital was on fire when he arrived, Amy suggested another job for him. He quickly accepted the police's request for help shooting down some walkers spotted in a small neighbourhood a short walk away from the Helm. Amy was twisting something around her neck, and when Daryl nodded at it, she explained the mermaid necklace was something Andrea found her a while back. Against a stall on the other side of the aisle was a shady character staring at Amy, par for the day. Daryl brushed a thought aside and warned her not to walk home alone.

The police station was a large building nearby the Wall. Men and women in deputy outfits scurried inside the building, some holding paper, others guiding people in handcuffs around. Each had a gun on their belt.

He notified the clerk he was there to assist on the walker hunt. The woman smiled at him, instructing that he'd be seen soon. He sat on one of the chairs, spreading his legs wide open. One of the Clear residents waiting nearby gawked at him, so he gritted his teeth in return. He scowled at another, telling them to take a picture.

Hanging on the wall was a group of pictures. Fallen comrades, he supposed. One of them, a man with steely eyes seemed vaguely familiar to Daryl. Daryl looked at the hat and deputy outfit long, staring enough to realize he didn't give a crap. His ears were barraged with complaints of recently missing persons, especially children and adolescents. He disregarded the pleas for search parties to be sent out. So he closed his eyes, hoping he'd be called upon soon.

Daryl waited what felt like hours. To make his stay productive, Daryl requested that he be brought food and water, to prepare himself for the job. He received a delicious but pitiful amount of food: a few cracker sandwiches with peanut butter layered between each, and a bowl of stewed collard greens. Taking his time, Daryl chewed, savouring each bite. He received a bottle of water and sipped from it every so often, hoping to save the rest for after he finished the mission.

He spotted Carl, with the sheriff hat that was too big for his head, and the skinny brunette past a few desks. The boy hounded a large man, the one who often flirted with the boy's mother, the one who the woman next door followed. The man laughed, ruffling Carl's hair before turning to the woman. He touched her hand lightly before escorting them outside the building. They were too busy enjoying each other's company to notice Daryl watching them.

* * *

The cops gave him a jar of peanut butter for his efforts. Swirling his finger, Daryl skimmed the top of the jar, scraping some off as if his finger was a knife. He licked the chunk of peanut butter on his finger while twisting the lid closed. Daryl shoved other cans over, making room for the new delight in his cupboard. If only he had bread to make sandwiches.

After ensuring her husband wasn't in the vicinity, Daryl managed to recruit the woman next door to clean up the mess Merle left. She introduced herself as Carol. Her daughter, Sophia, sat on the broken couch while her mother scrubbed the floors. Daryl gave her a colouring book he found while helping the cops clear the land of walkers.

Daryl looked away as he spoke to her. "Don't have any crayons or whatever. But the pictures are nice to look at."

Sophia gave a small smile and held the book close to her chest. They sat on the springy couch together, watching Carol wash the floor of stale vomit. Carol noticed how dirty it was and offered washed Daryl's shirt. Daryl refused at first, but gave in to her barrage of offers. She even said she'd clean the chicken coop and feed them if he ever needed her to. He slipped into his room before taking the shirt off and put another one on before handing the dirty thing over.

"Thank you," Carol whispered warmly, taking the dirty shirt from him. He told her to come by and clean the apartment, subtly implying that he didn't mind if she took some food every now and then. "You must be tired. Come along, Sophia."

Although Carol was thin, she managed to lug the large cans Daryl shoved in her hands. Carol was almost at Daryl's front door when he asked, "Seen Jackie Chan around?"

"Not recently. Did you two have a fight?" Carol beamed weakly.

Daryl glared at the woman, who slightly quivered at the sight. Carol shook her head, whispered apologies, and closed the door softly behind her and Sophia, who waved goodbye with her doll.

Daryl glanced at the presently clean floor for a few moments, stomping on the spot where Merle puked. He walked away and stared out the window. It was another hot night in the Borderlands.

Across the alley, he saw Andrea wave around her arms, pacing her room back and forth. The Eye shook his head at her, took his hat off and pressed it against his chest. He reached out for her arm, but she snapped it back, probably shouting profanities Daryl couldn't hear. The old man backed down slowly stepping away, leaving Andrea alone to throw her arms up at the ceiling.

He saw three walkers amble in the distance, making their way towards the Domino Block fence. Two guards from the closest watchtower used blunt weapons to beat the walkers down, targeting their knees and arms before going for the head. After knocking them out—assuming you could hit the dead unconscious—they returned to their post. It was protocol to burn the bodies in the morning.

After pulling his blinds and closing the bedroom door, Daryl unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time. Daryl tossed his shirt aside, aiming for the pile of somewhat dirty clothes. It flew, falling on top of the rest. He let his pants slide to the ground, resulting his cock to flop around. He slid onto his bed on top of his blanket. The heat intensified as he thought. He reached for his little friend and woke him up, thinking of things he knows he shouldn't be thinking. He stopped when feelings of guilt outweighed the pleasure.

Although the night was quiet, Daryl had trouble sleeping, unused to the silence coming from the apartments around his.

* * *

Daryl rustled in his sleep.

He twisted himself in his sheets, covering his torso with his thin blanket. Slightly opening his eyes, he squinted at the piercing daylight before realized he was in his room. He relaxed, allowing his head to lie down on hit shitty pillow. Daryl scratched his thigh absently.

Daryl snored lightly, returning to dreams of the mission with Miguel, an uneasiness of being watched. He spread his legs unintentionally, ready to run at the sight of walkers. He sighed at the coolness when his blanket slid up his stomach. A gasp. Daryl furrowed his brows, kicking his legs as if he was stomping on a walker's crunchy head.

Daryl felt a new warmth on his dick. He felt the blood rush to his cock and this time he didn't try to restrain himself. He twitched, turning to his side. Glenn's name escaped via a moan from his lips. His hands unconsciously roamed his body, his hips thrusting the air. Release was within reach.

Sweet, sweet, release.

He went back to sleep.

He opened his eyes. A sudden gust of wind woke Daryl, blowing the shirt he was drying on the windowsill onto the floor. He opened his eyes and found his bedroom door open. Feeling the cum on his skin, Daryl grabbed an old pillowcase and wiped his stomach and sheets. He sighed, rubbing his brow and shaking his head.

"Well, looky here, lil brother!" Merle announced. Daryl shot straight up at the sound of his brother's voice. "It looks like we got us a little thief!"

Quickly, Daryl pulled up his jeans, buttoning up a sleeveless shirt to hide his scars. He rubbed his hair, trying to rid it of the bed head that cursed him since he was a child. He grabbed his bow, loading it with a yawn. Apparently, Merle had discovered who was the one sneaking into their apartment and stealing their food.

"Found the little bugger in the closet!"

Daryl walked out of his room to find Merle in the kitchen laughing above cans of food that rolled away from him. From that angle, Daryl couldn't be sure, but it appeared as if Merle was holding something against the wall. So he continued to walk, dropping his jaw when he saw what Merle was shoving against the kitchen counter: Glenn.

Glenn squirmed in Merle's grasp, writhing as if he'd been infected with something just by touching him. Merle tried to stare Glenn down but the boy refused to meet his eye, turning his head whenever Merle tried to get in his view. Merle managed to stop him by grabbing a hold of his jaw. Glenn bared his teeth and shut his eyes tight when Merle's breath invaded his nostrils. He looked to Daryl for help.

"Tryin' to steal our food supply, little man?" Merle scoffed, throwing Glenn onto the floor. "No one steals from a Dixon."

Daryl stood behind Merle, helplessly watching his brother kick Glenn in the stomach over and over and over.


	10. Taking Some Action

Merle stopped kicking when Glenn's whimpers died down. Merle smirked, spouting racist remarks at Glenn, each cuss flying out easily and without remorse. He spat on the kid's face and stalked off to his room, hands deep in his pockets.

"Don't take shit from us again." Merle growled. "You deal with this, Darlena. I ain't wastin' my time on trash like this."

He stared at Glenn's body, battered and bruised from the welt of Merle's boot. It took Daryl a few moments to register what just happened. Daryl bent down, reaching out to wipe Glenn's face. But Glenn stopped him, swatting his hand away. Hard.

"Don't touch me," Glenn hissed.

Glenn reached out, in an attempt to stand. Daryl brought his hand to Glenn's, an offer to help him but. Glenn ignored the invitation completely, supporting his own weight by pressing his palms flat on the ground.

Glenn stood up tall, wiping the dust off his shirt and jeans. Reaching onto the counter, Glenn grabbed his hat, popping it back out and fixing his hair before putting it on. He grabbed the rolling cans and placed them back in the cupboard, in the same order he found them. Daryl stepped forward.

"You've got spit on your face," Daryl pointed out. He reached out to wipe it off but Glenn dodged his hand and took three large steps back.

"I meant it." Glenn stared fiercely. He stormed off to the front door and stopped. Glenn turned around to face Daryl. He took a deep breath and let it all out. "When I first came to this place, I didn't know you lived here. I didn't know anyone lived here. And since Carol and Sophia are starving because Ed is such a prick, I thought maybe I'd help them out. But no, you decide to show up with your big bulging biceps and sleeveless shirts." Glenn shook his head wearily. "I didn't mind paying you back. And I did. But now that Ed's dead, I needed to borrow some more because they were starving. And no one's paying their rent! But how was I supposed to know you had an asshole brother who'd beat the crap out of me for replacing the food I took?"

Glenn pressed his lips together, waiting for a response. Daryl stood there with his mouth open, staring at the glob of spit on Glenn's face travel down his cheek, clenching his fists, swaying back and forth, unsure whether to wipe Glenn clean or punch him in the face.

Glenn slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

"Where's the chink?" Merle asked, poking his head out of his room. After scanning the apartment, Merle opened the door wide and stumbled out, kicking empty beer bottles with each step. His clothes were dishevelled, his shirt was unbuttoned, his pants hung dangerously low on his hips.

Daryl's ass was sore from the long periods of time he spent sitting on it, tapping the kitchen counter absently. "He left."

"Good." Merle spoke firmly. He rounded an arm around Daryl's neck and rubbed a fist roughly on his head. "No one messes with us Dixons, lil' brother. Tell him that the next time he comes around."

* * *

The kid's trips to Room 201 became less frequent. And on those occasions when Daryl managed to catch the kid being dragged in the apartment or pushed out, the kid never looked his way. The kid didn't wave when Daryl stared at him from across the hall. The kid just picked himself up off the ground, buttoned up his jeans, and hurried down the stairs without a word.

But soon, a small influx of visitors arrived at Room 201. Each of them used a different call when knocking. Daryl checked, breathing heavily as he opened the door when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. And although all of them carried that cardboard box, none of them were Glenn. Daryl listened to them come and go from the other side of his door, eyeing each one with disdain.

He dropped food off next door and Carol would give him pitying looks. She never asked him what was wrong, only gave thanks when she received a few cans or two. She spoke warmly, knowingly, as if she knew him personally. He snapped at her, telling her to mind her own business.

He sat for hours against his door, waiting for that familiar knock.

Merle came and left as he pleased, leaving the apartment as many as eight times a day. He often opened the door wide enough to hit Daryl's leg, frowning at his brother before stepping in or out of the apartment. Sometimes he returned with bottles of beer, leading Daryl to question how Merle managed to find large amounts of this rare commodity. Sometimes Merle returned with women, many of them young and wily, many of them he offered Daryl, who declined them with silence. Sometimes Merle returned alone.

"The matter with you?" Merle bent down, speaking into his brother's ear.

"Nothin'!" Daryl snapped. "Get off me!"

Merle stood straight and examined Daryl. "Whatever you say, Darlena."

* * *

Confused hunters surrounded Fishin' for Gold. They looked around, chatting briefly with others before walking away. Daryl stood aside, noticing the stand was empty, unmanned. When most of them dispersed, he stood at the stand and looked around.

First, he glanced behind the stall for traces of any activity. Other than the magazine he found and gave to the old man to give to Amy, there were no personal belongings behind the stall. He lifted the glossy magazine full of makeup tips and lessons on flirting to notice a small twig between the pages, a makeshift bookmark. Opening the book, Daryl found that Amy had marked a "Do you love him?" quiz. Daryl scoffed as he skimmed through the questions, eyeing the possible pathways and results. He frowned, slammed the flimsy thing shut, and then shoved it back under the stand.

"Anyone come by this morning?" Daryl asked the vendor in the next stall over.

The woman shook her head before she turned back to her customers. Daryl didn't question her. Instead, he made his way to Zombie Zone Express, determined to find Jack. Questions needed to be asked. But behind the stall was a middle-aged man. Daryl asked for Jack and received a blank look from the man. He stared at Daryl, unsure of what to do until he saw Daryl's bow.

"Here's your pay for the medicine run." The man handed Daryl a large carton. "They told me to thank you for doing such a good job."

"But the mission wasn't complete," Daryl responded, counting the cans of food, knowing he arrived too late. The hospital had burned down before the package had arrived.

"Well," the man replied. "They paid us so I'm sure it was."

* * *

Daryl hauled the clunking cans of food in his large duffle bag, which stretched enough to fit every single one. He walked with his bow, armed and ready to fire at anyone who veered to close to his pay. Onlookers stared at him, from the Clear to the Zone eyeing the bulging bag with contempt. He received various pleas and offers for food, but he denied each one with silence, staring each at each person until they realized he didn't want what they were offering.

He tossed the heavy bag into his apartment, staring at the room by the stairs. Seconds passed by before the Room 201's door opened, startling Daryl. He stood, gripping his knob tightly, pretending as if he was just entering the apartment. With a slight turn of his neck, Daryl laid his eyes on the person being shoved out the door. He was wearing jeans, a small backpack, a button up shirt, and a silly red hat.

"Hey!" Daryl reached out. "Hey, kid!'

A gasp.

Glenn jumped into a defensive stance and stared at Daryl before dashing down the stairs. After cursing, Daryl swung his door open, grabbed a few cans of food and a canister of water and shoved them into a bag before beginning his pursuit. He dashed outside the building, scanning the Block's alleys for any signs of the kid. Running out of the alley, he stared towards the complex's entrance. In the distance, Daryl made out a small figure sprinting away.

Daryl followed, keeping an eye on the direction he was headed. The kid was heading for the Clear. And judging by the position of the sun, there were only a few hours left before nightfall. Daryl picked up his pace.

Journeying through rough neighbourhoods full of peculiar inhabitants, empty patches of land, and lonely dirt roads, Daryl grew weary. He hid often from people and walkers alike, behind large buildings, sliding his knife on the ground to see if Glenn would turn around and realize he was being followed. The kid did turn around often once he slowed down to a brisk walking pace. He was relaxed but alert. Daryl kept his distance and ducked behind whatever large object he could find whenever Glenn checked his back. The kid seemed to do that a lot.

A small plaza stood just inside the Wall. The pavement was cracked, pieces of asphalt were scattered here and there. On the end was an old pharmacy that appeared to be cleared out, empty of almost everything. Beside that was an old tech support store, full of technologies that couldn't be of use to most of the people Daryl knew. Beside it was a shop catering to adult needs. Daryl hid behind a large support beam holding up the brick canopy. Glenn ducked into the tech store, returning a few minutes later with a bag that appeared to be heavier.

Daryl's position was almost compromised. Glenn turned around when Daryl accidentally kicked a small pebble, causing it to bounce. Warned, Glenn scanned the area but saw no one there. Daryl slid his knife carefully along the ground, not wanting light to reflect off it. When he saw Glenn walking away, he began to move. But he stopped suddenly when Glenn spun around once more.

"I guess I can't outrun you forever," Glenn shuddered nervously.

Daryl retracted his knife immediately and pressed his back tightly against the bricks. He shifted his eyes to see if Glenn's shadow would soon enter his peripheral vision. Not from this angle. He breathed lightly, as quietly as he could. Thoughts filled Daryl's mind: what he was going to say when Glenn found him, impromptu escape routes, and wonderings about the boy himself.

Seconds, or perhaps minutes, passed before Daryl released his grip and sheathed his knife. Glenn sighed and judging from the shadow, he was steadily lifting his hands as high as his shoulders.

"Fine. You caught me."

There was a sudden shuffling sound, of sneakers against the pavement, followed by a wet smack.

Daryl turned, slowly, one step at a time, breathing heavily wondering how Glenn would react to know that he'd been following him the whole time. But Daryl's feet came to an abrupt halt when he saw a rotting head rolling on the ground. Glenn was nowhere in his sight. A walker's body was a few feet away. Just beside that was the dinky red cap that Glenn always wore. Daryl stared at it for a few minutes before putting it inside his bag.

Daryl followed Glenn's tracks until he reached the Wall. Thee dusty tracks led Daryl around the base of the tall metal fence. It was a few minutes when he reached a small segment of the Wall that looked familiar. Daryl shook his head. He was at the secret hole he often used when the gates closed at night—the easiest way in and out of the Zone, the only way into the Clear without a permit.

* * *

Daryl walked around, searching for any sign of Glenn in neighbourhoods nearby the hole in the Wall. There were no blatant hints of the boy's presence but Daryl knew that while Glenn probably knew more than he did about the Zone, he was at an advantage with his extensive knowledge of the Clear and beyond.

Fresh tracks traced Glenn's path from the hole towards a small housing complex half an hour away from the Helm. Daryl followed them, questioning his actions when he reached the edge of the small community of people, his muscles tensing with each and every doubtful thought. Furiously shaking his head, Daryl brushed them aside and continued his search.

He strapped his bow before he walked into the neighbourhood with his hands in his pockets. The first house seemed too clean and quiet. He heard hushed tones come from backyards and front porches.

Directly across the street was a woman quietly hanging clothes on a line. A child rambunctiously played behind her with another child. Both were distinct, different, one slightly tan, the other much darker. The woman looked like neither of them.

Another house seemed to be filled with another melange of people. Three teenagers eyed Daryl from the safety of their windows, while a young child watched an older man patrol the front gate with a large axe.

Every house was more of the same: filled with different people of different ages and different colours. There were many with older folk, a few with actual couples. He found a few with no children at all. There was one with a large dog that growled at Daryl before sitting as per the master's command.

And then Daryl spotted it. He eyed a house near the end of the road. Two rambunctious children squealed with joy, throwing balls at each other from afar. A teen smiled, leading them in the game, encouraging fair play. Behind the teen, standing on a porch was a couple—two men standing side-by-side watching the children thrive. The shorter one rested his head on his partner's shoulder and received a warm nuzzle and an arm wrapped around his waist.

Daryl didn't know how to react. He stared at the two men from the middle of the empty road. The two men smiled at each other lovingly, tightening their embrace with each passing second. The taller man noticed Daryl and gave a friendly wave. The smaller one grinned joyfully. The heat rushed to Daryl's face and he abruptly turned away scoffing, resisting the urge to give them the finger.

A mixture of feelings filled his gut when he compared the lives of these people to his—they had someone waiting for them, someone who cares, a place to call home. He fought the building emotions off, dismissing such notions by punching himself lightly in the cheek.

Daryl was about to reach the end of the neighbourhood lane when he noticed the thick-muscled man sitting at the end of the street. Shane, wasn't it? The cop was glaring from his chair at the end of the road. His eyes weren't facing the distance where walkers would appear but rather the last house Daryl had yet to examine.

The last house on the road shocked Daryl. When he took a closer look, he realized that this was the house he took the guns from on his first mission with Zombie Zone Express. The perfect house with the bright red paint and varnished deck, outlined in a white picket fence, the one that belonged in a dream home magazine.

And standing in front of it, Daryl spied the man he saw in the hospital—his roommate, the deputy who was supposedly comatose—hugging Carl and kissing the skinny brunette who worked at Amy's stall.


	11. Making Hard Decisions

Daryl managed to cross into the Borderlands but the roaming groups of walkers forced Daryl to spend more time trying to dispose of them quietly. After he slayed the last one in his path, the sun had set. He had to find somewhere to stay the night. A quick night time sprint in the Zone would normally be feasible, but tonight the clouds blocked any light from the moon and stars. It was hard to see, hard to kill walkers or maim threats from a distance.

Daryl weighed his options carefully.

He crossed the hole once again, making his way back into the Clear. The rumours of walkers coming from beyond the Clear contraindicated the success of arriving alive but his odds of survival were better.

He only encountered one ambling pile of flesh. He released his bolt, sending it flying into a walker's chest. He loaded his bow and aimed for the head. This time, he hit his mark. Gush oozed out of the opening when it crumpled on the ground. Daryl yanked the arrows out and wiped them dry in the grass.

The broken building complex was quiet and clear of walkers. Daryl avoided the place he visited too often for his liking and instead opted to stay in the building where he met the runners from Zombie Zone Express. He found his way to an empty room, one on the second floor with many potential escape routes, windows, a wide hallway with many other doors. He managed to set an alarm with empty cans and a bit of fishing line that stretched from the stairs to where he slept.

He holed up in the building until morning.

* * *

Daryl stayed awake most of the night, falling into a light sleep every so often, only to be woken up by the sounds of ambling fleshheaps. Disgruntled, Daryl made his way down the stairs, sliding his body up against the brick wall, making himself smaller, when he heard voices entering the building. Daryl listened in to the best of his abilities but the hushed tones made it difficult to understand the conversation clearly. Something about relocating the meeting point, something about a new base of operations in the Zone, something about walkers, something about children.

After he dismantled his alarm, Daryl sprinted out of the building when he had the chance, taking a back route to avoid being seen. He ran lightly, as quietly as he could, stepping on rocks and flat surfaces to avoid snapping twigs and kicking pebbles. He edged away, mimicking movements that he remembered seeing somewhere before, zigzagging down the alleys between the broken buildings.

He found himself at the Helm once more. A few quick turns brought him to a small crowd standing around Fishin' for Gold. They were asking questions, some becoming more anxious while others appeared to be apathetic, in relation to the unmanned stand. Amy wasn't there. Neither was that skinny brunette. Daryl rubbed his chin, frowning at the sight.

Gasps interrupted Daryl's theorizing. He turned, joining the surging crowd that rushed towards the exit. Their surprise turned into fear, the fear into desperation. Daryl spied a woman leading a crowd of people towards the Wall. Cops outlined the group of civilians, holding their guns high, aiming them outwards. Two cops beckoned all of the civilians to join the migrating group with waving hands and strained voices.

"They're coming from beyond the Clear!" A woman screeched, running through the streets while waving her hands frantically. "Walkers! Hundreds of them!"

Daryl watched as civilians rushed to the growing mob. Husbands held their wives close. Some carried them over their backs. Mothers held their children's hands tightly, in fear of losing their legacy, their hope. Children carried their favourite toys. Many lost them in the lengthy process, dropping them onto the grounds to be trampled by the others running their way.

Someone screamed for the crowd to stop moving but no one paid heed. Daryl watched her scour the ground in search for something. He stared between the moving feet and noticed a middle-aged man on the ground being trampled to death by the stampede of people. Foot pounded on flesh and the man's groans soon turned into wheezes, most likely from the air been squeezed from his lungs. He could have shot a gun up into the air, pushed people out of the way, and helped the woman lift the man off the ground—but he didn't. He stood, watching something he thought he couldn't stop. The woman cried when she saw the lifeless body pounded flatter than she had ever seen him. Daryl looked away, as she wept and caressed his mashed face, and followed the group from a distance.

Daryl stayed near enough to keep an eye on the mass of hysterical people, but far enough to get away if something went awry. But when Daryl looked up he noticed that the group travelled away from the oncoming walker threat from beyond the Clear but toward the centre of Area S, toward the Wall, toward Zombie Zone. When others began to notice, they yelled protest, refusing to pass the border into the Zone. A small group of people gathered the courage to speak against the cops' actions, and exclaimed they want to return to their homes.

The cops outlining the group turned towards their leader, who insisted they press further, away from the walkers that were making their way in from beyond the Clear. Many struggled to get out of the rushing crowd. Some managed to break free, while others could not walk the other direction without being pushed where they did not want to go. The Wall towered over the crowd, casting a large shadow on them, dark, ominous. A voice in the crowd suggested they couldn't go any further. That's when people started to revolt.

"You can't make us go in there!" a young man spoke out. Many cheers rang out, supporting the idea. "You can't make us go into the Zone!"

"We'll die if we go in there!" a woman cried.

"But there are walkers coming our way!'

"But there are walkers in there!"

"You'll be eaten regardless!" A cop yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd's woes and complaints.

Daryl stared, noticing the one speaking was the one who was in the hospital, the once comatose man. The deputy held onto the brunette woman, who held Carl closely against her own body. The beefy man, Shane, stood just nearby. Their mouths were moving but their voices melded with the rest. Shane raised his gun high into the air and let a bullet fly.

Shane roared loudly, demanding the attention of the group. "Pick the lesser of two evils! Where would you rather die? Over a hundred walkers are making their way into the Clear as I speak. We need to act now!"

Daryl watched small batches of people, groups of families running either into the Zone or back into the Clear. Daryl noticed the same-sex couple herd their children away from the group, looking at each one in the eyes, comforting them with hugs and hands on shoulders, before nodding towards the Zone. Shane moved, heading towards the Zone, instructing some officers to maintain a perimeter around the Wall's gate.

Another officer spoke loudly, "We'll keep the walkers out as long as possible but we'll keep you out if you go back into the Clear!"

Within fifteen minutes, the crowd of survivors had dispersed, making their ways back home or into the Wall, into the Zone. Daryl did the latter, passing a group of cops who spoke to each other at the gate. They were formulating a plan of defence from both sides. Stay as close to the Wall as possible in order to avoid going further into Borderlands, avoid going further into the Zone while not letting anyone from the Clear come in. Something about vehicles forming a barricade. Daryl passed them and began to make his way back to the Domino Block.

But he quickly realized something. Daryl searched, scanning the crowd for a plaid red shirt. He didn't see any. Daryl turned, unzipped back and reached inside. Daryl looked back to the Wall, toward the Clear, and clasped Glenn's hat tightly in his hand.

* * *

On his way back to the apartment, Daryl saw carcasses here and there, a few of them left out in the open, possibly to bait walkers. Skeletons clear of any meat, the remains of someone's parents, children, brothers, sisters, lovers, and friends, were scattered. A few were in the fetal position; some were shielding their faces. One was lucky enough to still have an eye. Then again, of what use could an eyeball be to a pile of bones?

Daryl was ambushed outside the apartment building by a familiar voice. "Dixon!"

He turned. It was Andrea. Daryl, trying not to reveal anything through his facial expressions, glared at her stoically. He began to move, but in the opposite direction he was headed. "What do you want? I'm kind of busy here."

"I know you live here," she replied slowly. Daryl was caught off guard, his eyes shot up but then he frowned just as quickly. "It's okay!" She held her hands out in an attempt to calm him down. "I saw you talking to T-Dog the other night. Please."

Noticing desperation in her voice, Daryl took a quick look at the woman. Her face seemed exhausted, skin sagging with dirt speckled here and there; hair strewn all over the place, only to be held in place by a small hair tie; her eyes red, pupils dilated; and her nose leaking. Her clothes appeared to be dishevelled. Her white shirt was stained with a tinge of red, bright, as if it was recently covered in blood. Wrapped around her wrist was a large cloth. Daryl slowly took a step back.

"Dixon." Andrea begged, clasping her hands together tightly, taking a brave step forward. "I need your help."

He took another step back, angling his side away from her view, reaching for the blade strapped to his waist. Daryl's voice wavered as she continued to press forward, invading his personal space. "What do you need my help for, Annie Oakley?"

Andrea bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. "Amy's missing."

* * *

Daryl paced back and forth in front of his couch. He stared at Glenn's hat, which sat on top of his kitchen counter taunting him with silence. After a emitting few strained growls, Daryl sat down and began to dismantle his bow, cleaning it piece by piece, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in his gut. He didn't touch the hat after that and decided to block its existence from his mind.

He hadn't seen the kid come by in days. He heard nothing but silence from the hallway. Every night, his mind used to be filled with Carol's sniffling and Sophia's sobs, Amy's gossip of the day, and even though he'd like to deny it, Glenn's familiar knock. These days his mind seemed empty, as if he was living without a care, as if he was the walking dead himself.

Gunshots rang throughout the night, similarly to the past few days. This was the only way cops knew how to defend people in the Clear but the people of the Zone knew sounds would only attract more of the undead. Luckily for the residents of the Borderlands, everyone from the Clear never ventured too far from the Wall, putting a clear boundary between them, separating the inevitable tension between the two groups, which would only amplify if they ever met. Then again, people who lived in the Borderlands never saw themselves as a group—more of a band of misfits and small clans and alliances struggling to survive.

Daryl stared outside his window to get an eyeful of Andrea, who moped, staring down into the alleys, keeping an eye on a raccoon who made its way too close to the RV. She raised her rifle and aimed to kill. But she never fired.

The old man, Dale, stood beside her in his stupid hat. He rubbed her back in an attempt to comfort her. Daryl noticed Andrea shrug him off every other night, but this night was different. She sighed, head downcast, as if she was defeated, as if all hope's lost.

* * *

The Hunter's Helm continued business after the exodus from the Clear, opening stalls with small boxes and shouting people. They set up on a small patch of flat grassy land a few minutes walk from the new Clear settlement. Daryl eyed the shops, noticing that weapons store he frequented, a store that bartered clothes, and another trading foods and rare drinks were doing well. It was like nothing had happened. He traced the scene and came across a large crowd.

Daryl sauntered forward to get a closer look.

Zombie Zone Express.

Daryl eyed the stall warily, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He shrugged until his crossbow moved into a more comfortable position. Weaving in the crowd, Daryl made his way closer, hoping to hear how and why business was still booming, growing even.

Behind the stall working her magic was Jack. In between directing her employees, she greeted the customers, explaining that business has resumed. She held the hands of a woman tenderly, wishing her luck on whatever sad situation she was in before she looked at Daryl.

He walked towards her and she towards him. They met under an awning where two men stood guard, watching over containers of various sizes. Jack waved them off, needing a few moments to speak with Daryl privately.

"Business look's like it's boomin'."

"Well, now that we're in the Zone, people are far away from their homes. Many of them left belongings behind and want their things back." She was shorter than he was but she sure had large presence. "Speaking of wanting things, there's been an increasing demand for a certain product, one that's very rare out here, and as of last week can only be found in the Old City. You in?"

Daryl squinted, trying to see what the woman was getting at. "Another job?"

"Yeah. Two successful jobs is more than anyone else ever did for us. You're still here and you even got our runners out alive."

He frowned at her choice of words. "So what?"

"If you want in, just go to the Domino Block in four days, building number three. Your partner should be on the roof after nightfall. He likes to do things during the day, so as long as you arrive before sunrise you're on. If not, that's fine, you don't need to show up. He can do things by himself. He's the best we got."

"If he's so good why does he need me?"

"Haven't you been payin' attention? There's a lot of walkers headed our way and a bunch of civilians sittin' around, waiting to go crazy." Jack smiled hesitantly at Daryl, pushing his arm lightly. "Now get out of here, you're scarin' away my customers."

Daryl gave in and moved in the direction she playfully shoved him. In the distance, he saw the skinny brunette woman trying to force her son to read. They sat on dinky lawn chairs, the boy avoiding the pile of books stacked on a box. He smirked at the boy's outbursts, Daryl could hear from where he was that the boy claimed reading to be useless in today's world. The mother argued otherwise.

"Hey." He announced his presence. "Carl, right?"

The boy smiled. "Yeah! How are you Mr Nice Guns?" Daryl sputtered. "Tell me stories about the Zone! My friend Glenn does!"

"Glenn? You know him?"

"Yeah! He foun—" But before Carl could finish, his mother nudged him with her elbow. The woman eyed him cautiously.

"What do you want? The stall's gone. And the book with all the jobs."

"Seen Wenonah recently?" Daryl crossed his arms.

"No, not since before we moved in here." The woman wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and shoved them into her pockets.

"Lori," a voice called over. Daryl turned, to find the man from the Burbs hospital. "Would you like to introduce us?"

"Dixon. My husband, Rick." Lori turned to the scruffy-faced man. "Dixon did jobs for Wenonah, the girl I worked for."

"Nice to make your acquaintance." Rick held his arm out, expecting Daryl to shake but Daryl stared at it, pressing his arms tighter against his chest. "I was wondering if you could help me out. Round up a few rowdies. Mobsters. Don't have a lead at the moment but I'll let you know."

Daryl nods hesitantly causing Rick to quirk a smile. Rick turned to his son, pressing the sheriff hat tightly onto his head. His son complained, laughing at his father's attempt to distract him from his studies. Carl reached out, but Rick was too fast and dodged each and every attempt to grab him. Carl chased his father happily past a few scattered stores and become smaller in the distance. Daryl stared longingly.

A few moments went by before the skinny woman, Lori, moved closer to Daryl. "Actually, there's something you can do."

Daryl instinctively stepped back. "I don't do this kind of shit."

"Actually, I was wondering if you could get something for me." Lori stood, beckoning Daryl to move closer so she could whisper in his ear. "It's personal."

* * *

Daryl returned to his apartment, taking in the emptiness as usual with a gloomy sigh. His eyes would normally skim the apartment for any signs of his brother but this time he locked on the silly red hat sitting on his counter. Daryl grabbed it and shoved it carelessly in a kitchen drawer. He slammed it shut and sighed heavily.

* * *

Daryl was aware of the lack of visitors to Room 201. There were no others since he chased the kid into the Clear a few days ago.

Rumours of Merle's presence weren't circulating. Daryl had no idea where his brother went. There was nothing around that even gave a hint of what his brother was up to.

He asked around but no one had seen Amy for a while.

There were no signs of Glenn either.

* * *

Getting a good night's sleep was difficult to achieve. Not with those thoughts that constantly raced through his mind. Those regrets. Those voices. Those words.

Carol visited earlier, asking if Daryl needed anything to be cleaned. Daryl shrugged, apathetically. Carol gave a small smile, a pitying one. Daryl scowled behind her back. Eventually, after breaching the amount of time he allotted others to stare, Daryl went to the kitchen, opened the drawer, and shoved the kid's hat in her direction. She blinked, taking it with out a word.

He buried his face in his hands, groaning miserably. The bedsprings squeaked under Daryl, the mattress giving way to his weight. Daryl cursed at himself, pressing his hands on his face with more strength, and wondered what the hell he was doing.

Andrea seemed to moving more slowly. Daryl stared out the window and saw into her apartment. The blonde sighed multiple times, twirling a spoon in a bowl. The old man's comforting words and shoulder rubbing seemed to have no effect.

He drew his eyes away from the sight to take a look at the alleys between the buildings. Aside from the occasional raccoon that rummaged through the garbage, there were no others there. In the distance, he saw Theo walk towards a dark shady part of the small mesh fence that protected the buildings from walkers.

Daryl took another quick glance at the ladder. The job offer to make a run into the Old City still stood. All he needed to do was climb up those rungs before sunrise and join his partner on a trek to gather whatever it is Jack's people requested. But thinking back to the request to take guns from Rick's home and the one of bringing an unprepared explosive to blow up the hospital, Daryl wondered about the missions.

People doing what they can to survive, he supposed. Stealing was pretty much common these days, but blowing up a place that helped the sick? Daryl debated about the ramifications of helping Jack and her crew to carry out these tasks. Sure the jobs were sketchy as hell, but they were good distractions and they paid well, better than anyone else.

And his potential partner.

Daryl had no luck with them so far. The first was that useless Hispanic kid who nearly screwed up the whole mission. Sure, Miguel was more nimble than most others these days but something about him irked Daryl. The kid almost got him killed! Twice!

Then he was partnered with that man who was worse, practically useless at killing walkers and even slower than ketchup sliding out of a bottle. Scout, ugh. Daryl didn't even want to think about being abandoned and blamed for the hospital being on fire before they even got there.

Daryl dismantled his bow, retying the strings to make it more taut. The people he worked with sucked balls but damn, was that pay good. He watched the ladder, deciding to take a good look at whoever it was before turning down the job. A trip to the Old City surely meant death but from what Jack said, his partner was the best of the best. Perhaps he'd be able to ask the runner what the job was before accepting it.

He looked outside his window once more and relief, fear, surprise, intrigue, and anger flooded his arteries, filling his every cell, when he saw a shadow slinking up the building where Dale set up his new residence. This was the best Zombie Zone Express had to offer, the man who knew the Old City in and out. Daryl moved closer to the window to get a better look.

And of course, the person he spotted climbing up a ladder on the other side of the alley with a shotgun on his back was none other than the confusing Korean.

"Glenn."


	12. On Another Run

Pushing up on the rungs, Daryl poked his head up to get a better view of the roof. The kid was scoping the area below with a pair of what appeared to be night-vision binoculars. The hatless boy was dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, slung across his back was a shotgun, and at his feet sat the green knapsack with things only Daryl could imagine based on what he knows about the kid—not much at all.

"Chinaman, right?"

Glenn turned around when Daryl reached the top of the ladder. The wind blew around them as they stared at each other, Glenn's hair flowing with the sudden gust. He could feel the kid's harsh look, one of distrust. To Daryl, it felt like forever before Glenn responded. "It's Glenn. And I'm Korean."

"Whatever." Daryl rolled his eyes and huffed lightly. He noticed a small sleeping bag towards the side of the roof.

Glenn took a step back, reaching for the shotgun strapped to his back. He appeared to be confused, nervous. Antsy. "What do you want from me? You here to beat me up?" Daryl shook his head as if he was offended. "Why are you always here when I am? Man, you really need to stop with the creeping."

Daryl opened his mouth, surprised at the words Glenn said. He balled a pair of fists and growled, denying the Korean's claim. "I'm here for the job, dumbass."

Glenn didn't seem convinced. "Right…"

"Jack?"

Glenn looked at Daryl in confusion, circling around him curiously, making sure to keep an arm's length away. After shaking his head repeatedly, Glenn turned and made his way to the edge of the building's roof. He palmed his face. "Of course." It sounded like Glenn was trying to suppress an unsure laugh. "You're the guy then."

"What of it?" Daryl scowled, confused.

"Look, the only reason you're here is 'cause Jac—k's worried about the recent influx of walkers. No offence, but I can handle this myself."

Daryl didn't doubt him.

Daryl watched him move under the moonlight and followed him. He stood beside the kid, who took a large step to his side. But Daryl snuck sidelong glances every so often. Daryl's shoulders slumped down slightly and he seemed to breathe a little bit easier. Some uncomfortable feeling swirled around in his gut but he brushed it off with a scoff or two.

Daryl spotted a limping figure in the distance, past the fence of the Domino Block, possibly a walker or someone who was injured pretty bad. Judging from the lack of painful cries, Daryl assumed it's the former. He stared, watching the body amble towards the lights that emitted from the watchtowers. The walker moved in ways comparable to that of a moth debating whether to fly into the light. Perhaps something edible was nearby.

He continued to pretend that the walker interested him, taking in quick glances at the boy beside him. Glenn was looking towards the Wall, towards the Clear. A peek. Another quick glance. An unintentional meeting of the eyes. Daryl looked away immediately when he realized he was caught. From his peripheral vision, Daryl noticed that Glenn appeared to be either bored or deep in thought. A few seconds or perhaps minutes passed by.

Eventually, Daryl broke the silence. "So what's the plan?" Daryl asked, nudging the boy with an elbow.

Glenn stiffened at the touch. "Get in, grab the stuff, get out. Simple enough for you?"

"What? We just walk in there and get our asses handed to us by the undead?"

"One does not simply walk into the Old City." Glenn watched Daryl, as if he was hoping for a response. After receiving a blank stare, Glenn sighed and continued, "Forget it. I've got a plan."

"No, you ain't."

"Yes, I do!"

After engaging in long spat on the rooftop, Daryl managed to coerce Glenn into getting some rest. Glenn's adamant refusals were futile against Daryl's sharp glares and he feebly walked towards his sleeping bag.

"You're not going to kill me in my sleep, are you?" Glenn spoke glumly, yet his tone had a hint of something Daryl couldn't put his finger on.

After he gave him an incredulous look, Daryl rolled his eyes, and told Glenn to wake him up when it was time to go. "You know where to find me."

* * *

Daryl rustled around in his sheets. His heart pounded heavily, faster than he's ever felt it go. He thought of his childhood, the fear that always loomed above him, the fear of getting caught. He thought of his first time meeting a walker, stabbing it in the head. Neither compared to this. Daryl cursed, telling himself to stop being such a wuss.

"Fuckin' pansy. If only Merle could see you now."

He gripped the thin sweat-soaked blanket and pulled it aside, giving his skin the chance to breathe. He swung his legs to the side of the bed, pressing his feet flat on the floor. Daryl scratched his balls and sighed.

Instead of lying there all night, Daryl decided to be productive. He grabbed a bag and began shoving food and weapons inside. It took a few hours to reach the Burbs but not knowing the area put him in a disadvantage. Quick calculations informed him that reaching the Old City would take a few days on foot. The whole trip would last at least a week, give or take a few days.

Daryl rifled through his collection of used and dirty clothes strewn around his bedroom floor. He grabbed the dirtiest of the bunch and carried them outside to the hallway. He carelessly dropped them in front of Carol's front door. Before he returned the apartment, Daryl reached into his pocket and hid an extra set of keys in his pile of walker-stained shirts.

The apartment seemed emptier for some reason. Daryl looked around, but was unable to discern what was missing, unable to figure out why there was an empty feeling in his gut. It was like an empty space with a need to be filled. He poked his head into Merle's room, finding a small pack of joints and a bag of powder. It took Daryl a few minutes to grab a few joints and hide them in his bag. He felt better. Somewhat.

He took a quick look out the window. Glenn was nowhere in sight. Better be sleepin', Daryl grumbled to himself. This was going to be a hell of a long week.

Daryl thoughtlessly resumed in tasks: preparing his weapons, counting his bolts, sharpening his blades. He cleaned out a gun, mind drifting to a memory when he was forced to repeat the procedure over and over until he had done it perfectly within the time allotted. He shook his head, brushing the memory aside. He fed his the cluckers that kept him up all night and put the bag of feed nearby the cage for Carol to see.

Rummaging through his cabinets and drawers, Daryl decided to bring some dried meat with him, thinking it would go bad soon. In another cupboard, he discovered a pair of batteries he received on a mission he forgot about. He found rope, scoffing at the uselessness of it before deciding to take it anyways.

A quick look outside the window told Daryl that the night was almost over. The sun began to rise, rays of light invaded his window. Pink and yellow hues invaded the sky, piercing the dark veil above him. He lugged his bag towards the couch that had at least ten springs poking out of it and sat on the edge. He sat on a chair and waited.

He didn't realize he fell asleep until he was startled by the sudden sound.

Daryl resisted the urge to smile when he finally heard the knock on his door.

"Let's get the stuff!"

* * *

Daryl was surprised.

He knew he shouldn't have been, especially after he remembered he followed the kid deep into the Burbs, watching him weave efficiently through its unsafe areas and between its sketchy citizens.

The kid seemed to know what he was doing. Glenn sped along lightly on his feet down the abandoned streets, shifting his head all around, even behind him. He gestured with his head, and unlike the other two runners before, he actually led Daryl. This way and quick. That way, three walkers ahead. Daryl was just supposed to be there as backup—but that was not the case for the other runs since Daryl ended up having to take the lead. It seemed that Glenn was the only one who understood that concept—so far. Sure the kid was able to run circles around the slow fuckers, but was he able to dispose of them?

Daryl followed Glenn for a few hours, watching the kid's backside as they jogged deeper into the Zone. Glenn looked back often, sometimes unintentionally making eye contact. It was about the fiftieth time or so when Daryl's annoyance threshold was breached.

"What're you lookin' at?" Daryl snapped loudly. "See somethin' you like?"

Glenn sputtered, almost tripping himself at sudden and unexpected comment. "N-no! Unlike everyone else these days, I actually check my back." Glenn slowed his pace, looking ahead of him while he spoke. From the way he did, with those clenched fists and fixed shoulders, Daryl could tell he was forcing himself to look forward. "Never know when a walker's gonna sneak up on you."

"Ain't that the reason why I'm here? To watch your pretty little ass?"

Glenn stopped abruptly and spun around. He crossed his arms and assessed Daryl carefully. "If you're watching mine who's watching yours?"

Daryl snorted and met Glenn's eyes, his brows moved down. He glared fiercely. Glenn broke the moment by turning his head, rubbing his forehead as if he had some aching headache that wouldn't go away.

Glenn crossed his arms released a frustrated groan, "Whatever, man. Let's get this over with."

* * *

They had been walking for a few hours. Glenn stuck to walking under shade whenever he could, telling Daryl that it was less taxing than boiling under the sun before he could even ask. As he walked, Glenn looked back often but not as many times has he had before.

Daryl took down three walkers. Glenn somehow managed to deter one of them, allowing Daryl enough time to shoot it in the head.

"Do all you runners have to be so useless?"

Glenn frowned and walked briskly ahead, separating him and Daryl with a greater distance than before. A few blocks later, Daryl noticed entrails lying about. He hissed at the kid, nudging an elbow toward the now external organs. Crouching, Daryl assessed the guts.

"Human. Probably a few days old." He stood up, following the thin trail of dirt. "Dragged that way. These aren't shoeprints. Maybe some large deformed walker. Or a bear or somethin'."

"A large deformed walker bear." Glenn sighed, placed his hands on his knapsack straps and strode off. "I guess we'll have to take the long way around then."

Daryl followed Glenn through small housing developments, through thin and thick forests, over streams, and around large groups of walkers. They stopped at a small clearing in the middle of a forest as per Glenn's plan. Daryl lit a fire and set a few signal wires around the camp. Glenn washed their weapons clean of walker.

"We rest here a bit and then we head to the neighbourhood past those bushes."

"Why not stay in those houses if we're so close?"

"Everyone thinks to go into a house. It's easier that way, you know, because it reminds us of the way things used to be. People think its safe. But people these days, people from the Burbs... If we get trapped in a house we're screwed. Out here we can hear them come from miles away. Out here we run anywhere we want. No limits. Nothing to hold us back."

After listening to Glenn's piece, Daryl leaned on a tree, welcoming the shade with a grateful sigh. Although the sun was setting, he knew the heat would purge even after the sun set. From the amount of time they walked, Daryl assumed they were somewhere near the warehouse. He aimed his line of sight towards a tree behind Glenn, who was washing a blade in small stream. The water seemed clear enough but the chance of contamination was quite high. He thought of walkers tromping through the river, letting their rotten flesh mingle flavour the water.

"So you're a Zoner, huh?"

Glenn stopped again and turned to face Daryl. "What? Is that supposed to make me feel bad or something? Look, I'm not even from here originally—"

"Right." Daryl remembered, "You're from Korea."

Glenn rolled his eyes, "Dumbass. I'm from Michigan. Area P or whatever it's called now." Daryl gave Glenn a questioning look. "Moved to the Old City way before all this happened." Glenn shook his head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

* * *

He shot up and opened his eyes to realize their camp had been invaded with walkers. It was dark. He skimmed the area quickly. Nine walkers. Four children. Four adults. One somewhere in between. He unsheathed his blade and ran towards the children, slaying them one by one, swashing his blade at their necks, decapitating them with relative ease. He turned once he heard fearful snivelling.

At the edge of camp stood Glenn, surrounded by three walkers. Glenn immediately dropped his shotgun and turned, running towards his green bag beside the fire. Daryl rolled his eyes and loaded his bow, aiming for the one that moved the fastest.

"Shit!" Glenn hissed.

A walker was on Glenn, reaching out, trying to grab a bite of fresh human flesh. It would have been shot dead (again) by now if it weren't for those awkward movements Glenn made in failing attempts to push the body off him. It growled hungrily, forcing Glenn back with each and every step. Glenn released soft whimpers of fear and tried to keep his face straight, failing to keep his fear internal.

"B-behind you!" Glenn pointed in terror.

Daryl spun around to find three more walkers ambling his way. He cursed, shooting one of them in the stomach. It stumbled from the sudden impact before standing still, coaxing Daryl to stop moving with a deep growl. He dropped his bow and unsheathed his knife. Punching and kicking, Daryl tried to make space between him and the bodies. He circled them carefully, making sure to watch his back and step where he couldn't be trapped. When he saw an opening, he struck.

Glenn cried out, causing Daryl to shift his attention from the now dead walker. His eyes raked across the camp in search for the boy. Behind the fire was a body. Daryl nearly yelled, wanting to call the kid's name. But he couldn't. He sprinted towards it and sighed when he saw it was already dead. And behind that were more rotten corpses. Following the walker bodies, Daryl counted up to five before he saw Glenn coaxing a walker to follow him.

A grunt escaped Daryl's throat when Glenn tripped on a rock and fell backwards. He stared, loading his bow hastily. But the walker's mouth loomed closer and closer to Glenn's skin. Daryl dropped his bow and rushed towards Glenn, swinging his knife high above his head. He was about to swat the walker aside but somehow Glenn managed to get up to punch it in the face and kick it aside. Glenn scrambled and sat on top of its chest before slamming a hooked machete deep into the walker's skull—all while whimpering his ass off.

Daryl reached out and offered a hand to the kid, who, after a few seconds of what looked like debating with himself, accepted it reluctantly. Daryl patted him on the stomach, his hand lingering a little longer than it should have.

"Nice."

* * *

"Sorry. I'm not used to going into town with other people. I'm better off on my own. Should've woken you up when I got tired." The kid paused. "But thanks."

"Why'd you drop the gun?"

"It's loud. Your bow is quieter. Can take a walker out without bringing attention to me." Glenn poked the fire with his machete pushing the burning wood back and forth. "Blade's better up close."

"Where'd you get that? Looks familiar."

"It's…" Glenn stopped talking and moved to wrap his machete in a sleek leather case. It seemed expensive, hard to come by. Didn't match the way Glenn dressed or talked.

Daryl closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to relax against the rough tree bark. He fell asleep with his hand close to his knife and countless possibilities in his head.

* * *

It was well past sunrise when Daryl kicked Glenn awake. The boy grumbled, rubbing his face and complained of morning breath. Daryl blew some air in his face and snickered. They reached the neighbourhood Glenn was talking about without encountering walkers. Glenn led the way, sneaking down the houses and brought Daryl to a house with boarded windows and doors.

"Sorry it took so long. I had another one with a full tank lined up but it's nearby the Wall. I was going to take it but everyone from the Clear." Glenn sighed. "Didn't want anyone to see it. Had to make due, I guess."

Glenn looked around before sticking something into the garage lock. After a few short moments and awkward hand jerking, Glenn lifted the garage door, sliding it up into place. Inside was one of those new fangled contraptions he saw on commercials, the type that didn't make sounds in the forest, environmentally friendly or some shit like that. The kind Daryl could never afford. Glenn popped the trunk open and told Daryl to ride shotgun.

"How'd you find the keys to this thing?" Daryl asked, putting his bag away.

"I, uh, I didn't."

* * *

The ride was long and arduous. Glenn knew all the side streets, the ones devoid of life and unlife, the ones that were blocked with cars and the ones filled with tanks. Glenn directed Daryl, telling him how fast to drive, where to turn, and what to expect beyond the next curve. They stopped nearby a street of gridlocked cars so Glenn could siphon some gas. Glenn wanted to drive but Daryl had mocked him and roughly pushed him to the passenger seat, causing the kid to scowl.

"Don't want no walkers attracted by your zigzaggin' lights," was Daryl's excuse.

Glenn made him park outside the city. He removed their belongings from the car while Glenn fiddled with the inner mechanics. When Glenn was done, Daryl tossed his knapsack towards him. Glenn stumbled, but he managed to catch it. He nodded at Daryl, who handed him his shotgun.

Daryl felt his fingers brush against Glenn's so he yanked it away as quickly as he could. Glenn froze, shifting his eyes to gaze at something in the distance. Daryl broke the tension by walking away—in the wrong direction.

"Hey." Glenn called. "The Old City is where the buildings are."

Daryl huffed, loaded his bow, and turned around to follow Glenn.

* * *

They reached a crowded street corner, Glenn taking the lead. Daryl couldn't help but feel intrigued—impressed even—when the kid pulled out knife and slid it across the ground to see around the corner. Glenn motioned towards Daryl. All clear.

The city was ruined. Cars were jammed in the tight roads; belongings were strewn about, light papers and pictures blew wherever the wind forced them to; there were burnt and broken buildings, shops with no front windows and pieces of glass scattered around; the odour of oil and death filled the air.

"This area's good for walking on the streets. But we have to get indoors. Fast." Glenn sped along, hiding behind cars, under awnings, leading Daryl towards their first of many destinations. "Don't want anyone seeing us. This way."

"If we don't want to be seen why are we going by foot?" Daryl asked. But he didn't get his answer.

"Two walkers, ten o'clock. Another at five." Glenn slid his back against a beaten up bus. "Don't want to attract attention. Go!"

They jogged carefully until Glenn brushes a lead pipe with his foot, sending it clattering down the sidewalk, its sounds echoing through the empty city streets. Glenn cursed. Groans and turning heads were enough to send the two running. After informing Daryl that they would soon be surrounded, Glenn barked out directions. Daryl nodded, hoping he wouldn't have to lose an arrow in this mess.

"I'll distract them! Go on ahead!" Glenn yelled, running close towards the pair of walkers, raising his machete high.

"What about you?" Daryl hissed, ignoring the commands Glenn was spouting off.

Glenn sped off, leading the walkers down a dingy dark alley. "—meet you there! Remember! Turn right after you pass the park. Only red brick building. Broken front door. Up the stairs and onto the roof!"

Daryl growled, unsure of what to do. He shot the walker behind him, pulled the bow out of its skull, and set off after Glenn. He easily tracked the kid's position, navigating with rotten flesh that the walkers left behind. A smile would creep onto his face each time he found a freshly killed walker. When tracks seemed to die, Daryl crouched, searching every crack in the pavement, every piece of trash that sat around, for guts or blood. Once he picked up the trail, he pounded the pavement heavily, kicking it into high gear.

He ran in between buildings, tight alleyways with multiple bodies lying around. Many were walkers, many were human. The odour became unbearable, the grimy stench of decaying flesh invaded Daryl's nostrils, permeating his every thought. He swallowed and breathed with his mouth, but he stopped when some strange flavour was dancing on his tongue—the taste of death.

Daryl managed to shoot two walkers before he became lost. That alley seemed familiar but didn't all of them look the same? But out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw a flash of green zooming to the right. He followed and noticed six walkers ambling in circles, as if their prey had vanished.

Sneaking down the alley, Daryl spied Glenn hiding behind a dumpster. The kid was crouched down with his machete out, looking at something before him. He whispered and carefully tapped the kid on the shoulders. Glenn screamed and nearly cut Daryl's face.

Glenn's eyes opened wide when he realized that Daryl followed him. "Why are you here?"

"Calm your tits, Mulan." Daryl shoved Glenn's shoulder, loading his bow as he followed Glenn down another pathway. "Didn't think you could handle this on your own."

"Dude!" Glenn released a frustrated groan and pointed to the sky. "I wanted you to go up there! That building! You could've jumped from one to another!" He grumbled while he jogged, murmuring words Daryl couldn't hear until they reached a dead end. "Your job was to snipe them down while I climbed up to that landing!"

Daryl's eyes followed the finger alongside the brick walls, up the flimsy metal ladder hanging above a dumpster, and up to a small window perched on the second floor. "Oh. Well, fuck. Why didn't you say so?"

"I'm the one leading the mission!" Glenn complained, gesturing to his chest. "You're just supposed to be my backup! Why are you running off and making decisions? I'm the one who knows the Old City!"

Daryl was stunned. Glenn stared back expectantly. Daryl frowned, thinking back to his previous missions. "The other two sucked balls." He humphed. "Thought you would too."

"The other two? Who—?"Hungry moans echoed down the alleys made Glenn's confidence dwindle. Glenn looked back, scared. His eyes darted between the way they came, Daryl, and the ladder. A small whimper escaped his throat and he looked anxiously at Daryl.

Daryl pushed him towards the ladder. "Get your ass up there. I'll hold them off."

Glenn hesitated, but after some coaxing and threats to ride his ass, he scampered up the dumpster and jumped for the ladder. Daryl saw the walkers' shadows grow larger and urged Glenn to move faster from below.

"I'm trying! I'm trying!" Glenn bent low and extended his legs, reaching his hand high to get a grip. He missed the lowest bar by an inch. "Wanna give me a boost?"

Daryl sighed and made his way up the dumpster. As soon as he stood on it, the walkers were within sight. He shot one of them down, leaving six more to wander their way. Glenn's stream of curses was interrupted when Daryl wrapped his arms around his waist. Glenn's stomach pressed against Daryl's nose, helping to block out the scent of rotting corpses that loomed over the Old City—although the kid's smell did almost nothing to get rid of the pervasive stench.

"Can you reach it now, Shortstop?" Daryl struggled to say, trying to spit the kid's shirt out of his mouth.

"W-what are you doing? Dixon! Put me down! Just grab my legs push me up!"

Daryl shook his head vigorously and got to his knees and held the red kicks tightly. He looked up, warily eyeing Glenn's package, and met then Glenn's eyes. Glenn nodded hesitantly. With a quick push, Daryl shoved Glenn upwards. Daryl watched as Glenn struggled, his pants nearly ripping because he legs were flailing every which way, but the kid managed to reach the bottom rung, so he rushed up it was quickly as he could.

"It won't release! It's stuck!" Glenn hissed from above, trying to pull the metal lever that would drop the ladder low enough for Daryl to reach it.

Daryl fired another bolt, knocking another walker down for the count. He turned and jumped for the ladder, cursing when he couldn't reach it, harshly stomping his feet. He did a quick scan and saw Glenn at the end of the metal platform. Daryl felt something in his chest sink under his stomach when he watched Glenn slam his machete into the small second floor window and jump inside, leaving him alone in the alley with six, no seven, no, a shitload of walkers headed his way.


	13. An Unfamiliar Feeling

"Fuck!"

Daryl paced back and forth on top of the grubby dumpster, trying not to breathe in the stench of rotting flesh and garbage in an attempt to refrain from letting it permeate his every thought. He stared at the window once more, wondering if Glenn had led him here on purpose, wondering if this was all some trick to get back at him for letting Merle beat Glenn up. A flurry of curses and grievances escaped his mouth when he looked back towards the ten or so walkers that ambled their way into the tight alley.

His attempts at reaching the ladder were completed in vain. Though he was indeed taller than Glenn, his fingers only managed to graze the bottom of the lowest rung. And when he landed, the dumpster lids bent downwards from his heavy landings, causing him to lose his footing, leading him to stumble in every which direction. The brick walls, although more gritty than expected, were useful to propping his hand against. But his attempts were futile.

He lifted his bow and shot another down, loading up another bolt before jumping to the ground. When he pulled the trigger, he sent another arrow flying, into a walker's skull. A quick count told him that he didn't have enough bolts to dispose of the rest. Daryl heard a piercing growl come from his side and he turned, whacking the walker that somehow gotten beside him with his bow. Hitting it repeatedly, Daryl knew his attempts were useless. He had to aim for the brain, but his bow itself wasn't sharp enough to pierce through the skull. Daryl regretfully dropped his bow before he got on the dumpster, resting it against the wall, before he pulled out his large knife. He watched the walkers trample his weapon.

Another walker somehow breached the pack, ambling towards him faster than the rest. Daryl surged forward, slashing the outstretched arms before stabbing it square in the head. He grunted, struggling to pull the knife out from a higher position. He stomped on the face, unintentionally crushing cheekbones while trying to dislodge the blade. With a sharp tug, he flew backwards, his back slamming harshly against the wall. He managed to free his weapon from the rotting flesh.

More walkers made their way towards him and Daryl began to think all hope was lost. He forced his eyes to remain open, gritted his teeth, and held his knife out in front of him, preparing himself for the worst.

But he all of a sudden, something flew in the air, across the alley, and landed in front of the walkers' path. Something else was launched forward. Then another. And another. The walkers growled and crowded around the thing that somehow managed to catch their interest. Daryl watched them fight over whatever it was that landed there, shuddering when he saw them gnawing slowly enough that maggots fell out of their mouths.

The clanking metal alerted Daryl that he wasn't alone. Daryl turned and saw Glenn return, hopping through the window with a small tiny wood ladder with hooks on the ends. He wasn't sure whether to feel angry or relieved.

"The hell were you?" Daryl demanded.

Glenn shook his head and climbed down the metal rungs to hook the tiny wooden ladder on the lowest bar. "Had to improvise."

Daryl stared, watching the kid secure the wooden ladder to the best of his abilities, studying his features as he scampered back up. Glenn turned back, waiting for Daryl to climb, motioning his hands in circles. Daryl saw something flash across his face before he jumped for the wooden ladder. It swung as soon as he grabbed it, catching Daryl off guard. Looking up, he saw panic spread across Glenn's features. He climbed.

By the time he reached the metal platform, the walkers had made their way to the dumpster, clawing at Daryl and Glenn with multiple futile attempts. Glenn led Daryl to the window, turning his head slightly, as if to check if Daryl was behind him, before he squeezed inside the small compartment, contorting his body to get through in one swift motion. Daryl licked his lips and followed afterwards, struggling exponentially more than Glenn had. He heard Glenn snicker when he crashed onto the floor.

Daryl felt shards of glass rub against his skin, luckily none of them piercing him. The room was small, with toy fire trucks lining the walls, a child's room. There was a bunk bed against the wall with nothing that allowed access for the top bed. Daryl assumed that's where Glenn got the ladder.

Daryl managed to get up and let his weight go when he hovered above a chair. He panted deeply, taking in deep breaths, and leaned forwards, pressing his palms heavily onto his knees.

"Didn't think you were comin' back."

Glenn ruffled with something in his bag. Daryl raised a brow when Glenn held a water bottle in his hand. Glenn took a few short gulps and tossed it towards Daryl, who happily swallowed the rest of water, even though it was warm.

"Me either," Glenn said softly. Daryl's eyes shot up when he heard those words. Glenn was shaking his head but stopped when he saw Daryl was looking at him. Glenn raised his machete and looked outside the door. "We'll need to crash for the night. Set up a home base. Sorry about your crossbow."

"Why did you come back?" Daryl asked.

Glenn turned to look at Daryl and the expression on the kid's face was not what he was expecting. He thought it would have been a scowl followed by a retort of he wouldn't be the best if his backup had died. But it wasn't. Instead, Daryl found the warmest smile on Glenn's face, one that was, although hesitant, seemed hopeful. A tongue poked out from between Glenn's lips, moistening the chapped things. When their eyes met, Glenn looked away first, Daryl following suit. Glenn rubbed the back of his neck, smiling at Daryl before he turned around.

Glenn walked into the hallway and made a sharp right. Daryl straightened his clothes and followed shortly behind, brooding about the loss of his favourite weapon. Glenn had led him down twisting dark hallways and across small alleys. A few windows were open, granting them temporary vision of the path before them. But the last of the sunlight faded with that last window. Glenn turned on a flashlight, aiming it at doors and crevices large enough to hide walkers, and held his machete with his other hand, ready to strike. He turned often, smiling awkwardly each time Daryl accidentally met his eye. Glenn's face fell when he saw the frown on Daryl's face.

After climbing a few flights, Glenn told Daryl to watch their backs and set up a few warning snares. Daryl turned, hearing Glenn shuffle quietly behind him. A few frustrated groans came from the same direction, making Daryl wonder what Glenn was doing. Daryl travelled down the tight set of stairs laid out strings attached to cans. He returned to find the hallway empty of Korean.

Daryl raised his knife, knocking on each door, waiting for responses that didn't come. He reached the door at the end of the hall and Glenn swung it open, eyes going wide when he realized there was a weapon nearby his face.

"Friendly!" Glenn raised his hands in a placating manner only to roll his eyes when he saw Daryl's face. "Get in here before someone sees you."

Glenn grabbed Daryl's shirt, bunching it up between his fingers, and yanked him inside. Glenn shut the door behind them, telling Daryl to make himself comfortable before he scurried off around the apartment. Daryl whipped out his own flashlight and entered the darkness.

It was regal.

Daryl's eyes raked the apartment with awe, over the dark red wallpaper that stood straight on the walls, tracing the gold linings that flowed at the edges of each panel, around the scattered paintings and mirrors that were deemed eccentric just by their frames. The furniture dark and expensive, although covered in a thin layer of dust, seemed to be polished. There were tall tables with confusing carvings, tiger skins and bear rugs. In the main room, there was a long leather couch, sleek and comfortable. In a smaller room walled with towering bookshelves, there was a matching recliner behind a wooden desk, the kind he saw in those old mobster movies when he was a kid.

There was a small kitchen, with a stovetop that didn't work, a refrigerator full of rotten food and a few cases of beer. Daryl peered at the alcohol, unsure of its edibility. Knives were hidden in the drawers, organized into neat groups, a few probably for uses other than cooking or eating. He pocketed a small pistol he found in one of the drawers.

The washroom was more of the same, white porcelain, shiny clear tiles, tall mirrors, a hot tub, a shower off to the corner. Hell, even the toilet looked fancy. To his dismay, it didn't flush.

He stumbled upon a bedroom in the back, one that shouldn't have been there, as if a secret passage had been opened to allow him access. There was a grand fireplace with wooden borders etched with fine details. Two swords hung high above it. A quick touch and Daryl realized that the blades were sharp. He hissed and brought his fingers to his lips. There were large blocks burning inside the pit, warming the room, giving light. Daryl swirled around the room, flashing his light on each object to get a closer look. There was a small bedside table with a digital clock on it. The bed was large, red. He pressed a palm onto the mattress and felt the soft silk. Running his hands up and down the fabric, Daryl felt something rise inside him. He turned abruptly and left, wondering where Glenn went.

Returning to the main room, Daryl realized something: there were no windows. The apartment was dark, save for the flashlight he held and the light emitted from the flames. He took a closer look at his surroundings, trying to make sense of them, trying to make sense of how and why Glenn knew to bring them here.

Retracing his steps, Daryl searched the rooms again until he found Glenn sitting in front of the bedroom fireplace. He wondered to where Glenn had disappeared. Glenn had set a small pan nearby the flames, prodding something with a pair of long metal tongs. A closer look allowed Daryl to notice it was a can of his favourite soup. Glenn smiled at Daryl, inviting him to partake in the food.

"Nice digs." Daryl nudged Glenn with an elbow.

"Thanks. I guess."

They ate in silence.

When they were finished, Glenn leaned back and rested against the foot of the bed. Daryl did the same, making sure to keep his eyes on the crackling flames before him. Every so often, Glenn would leave the room and return with a few books, chucking them into the fire to keep it going. Daryl watched him come and go, only moving his eyes. Glenn crouched in front of the fireplace and prodded the novels often to keep the flames burning. Light covered him, making it seem as if he was glowing.

"Hey, kid. What did you do before all this?"

Glenn released an exasperated sigh, moving ashes around with the poker. "Delivered pizzas."

"Really." Daryl eyed him thoughtfully and sat up higher. "So that's how you know the ins and outs?

"Yeah. 30 minutes or else," Glenn pretended to slice his own neck. Daryl gave him a look. "What? Or else it's free. Duh." Glenn waved a hand. "Can you get off my back now?"

Daryl turned, studying the light fixture that hung above the door. Glenn left the fire but this time made his way toward the bed. After a few minutes of watching Glenn stare at the bed, Daryl managed to open his mouth and stalked out of the bedroom.

"I'll take the couch."

* * *

Daryl woke up to complete darkness. He sat up on the couch quickly and saw that his flashlight had gone out. He cursed at himself for not turning it off. His hands roamed into the leather crevices and onto the floor in search for his shirt and pants. Buttoning himself up quickly, Daryl stumbled his way into the bedroom.

There was a dim light coming from somewhere and Daryl found that there were torches hanging on the walls—torches that seemed to be fashioned from table legs. He found Glenn twiddling his thumbs while sitting on the giant mattress. The sudden press of his shoulder against the doorframe didn't make a sound.

"Pea pissin' you off, Princess?" Glenn was startled to hear Daryl's voice. He shook his head, mumbling something about not being able to. His eyes darted around the apartment. Daryl knew he was uncomfortable. "Seems like we're safe in here. Ain't like walkers are smart enough to climb three flights of stairs."

Glenn shook his head, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something. He didn't. He closed his mouth and slowly exhaled through his nose.

Light flickered across Glenn's face and Daryl realized he's seen that look before. He watched the kid, trying to decipher that forlorn look on his face. After a short grunt, Daryl closed his eyes. It felt like forever before he heard something that heard like words. He glanced at Glenn, who was indeed looking at him.

"What?"

"Dixon," Glenn whispered, putting a finger to his mouth before staring at the space between his shoes. "That your name or is it your brother's too?"

"Last name," Daryl muttered.

The only sounds in the room came from the burning books. Daryl remained quiet for a few minutes before Glenn piped up. "It's okay. You don't need to tell me."

"Mm." Daryl eyed the legless tabletop, which rested on the floor with screws on top. It was dark, expensive, nothing he'd ever seen. He wondered how Glenn was able to dismantle it. "So the little girl."

"Sophia?" Glenn sputtered. Daryl nodded. "What about her?"

"You help her out but you don't need to." Daryl was perplexed. "Givin' free food and shit. Why?"

"Some stupid naïve hope that someday someone might do the same for me." Glenn started. Glenn looked down at his fingers, probably gathering his thoughts. "It doesn't matter what we did back then, before. What matters is what we do now. I mean, this world has gone to shit. And everyone's out for each other. Who's going to care about the people who can't care for themselves?"

Daryl rolled his eyes, tracing the rings in the wood with the utmost care. "Idealism won't get you far these days, kid."

Glenn stared at Daryl, as if looking at him could allow him a greater understanding of Daryl's inner mind. "But you gave her food too! I know!" Daryl looked away immediately, trying to ignore the relentless gaze. "I wasn't there for a while so I got worried. I asked her where she got those cans and she said—"

Daryl cut him off. "Just 'cause you hear rumours don't mean they're true."

Glenn nodded absently for a minute before the look on his face changed to one of understanding. He then caught Daryl off guard with his next statement, "You're different from your brother, you know that?"

Daryl suddenly felt warm. He took two steps away from the torch a few feet to his right and crossed his arms tightly. "W-whatever. Get some sleep. I ain't draggin' Sleepin' Ugly all over town." He whirled suddenly and grabbed a thin blanket from Glenn on his way out. "I'm takin' this."

"Good night, Dixon," Glenn called from the bed.

Daryl paused, unsure what to make of the churning feeling in his gut. He opened his mouth and didn't look back.

"It's Daryl."

* * *

The apartment was some sort of safe refuge. Days went by and after Glenn checked his usual places—gentlemen's clubs and drug stores—Daryl realized the goods they were seeking were never there. However, the kid beamed when he found a circuit board and some wires. Daryl didn't ask, rubbing his brow at the kid's weird interest. They settled into an odd but somehow comforting routine, one in which Daryl scouted the area and assessed the perimeter from the rooftop and where Glenn procured food and random objects that he deemed necessary for survival. Daryl often looked in the alley and still found a handful walkers surrounding his bow, preventing him from retrieving it.

They ate, mostly in silence.

They talked. They talked about anything, whatever came to their minds. They spoke of the time before, what happened when the Wall came up, what happened when the walkers took over. Glenn thought that the other continents were safe. Daryl disagreed. Glenn talked about some pizza place he used to work at, recounting stories of being chased down the street by hungry hobos. Daryl laughed at that.

They slept. Daryl took the blanket and claimed the couch as his resting area, forcing Glenn to take the large bed. But when Daryl peeked at the room in the morning, it appeared as if the bed wasn't used at all.

Sometimes, Daryl heard Glenn creep past him at night, leaving the apartment in the dark. But Daryl wasn't sure whether or not to feel relieved when he found Glenn milling around the apartment in the morning.

* * *

It was the middle of another long night when Daryl's eyes shot open. It was dark, the only glow coming from torches hanging from the walls.

Daryl shifted, turning slightly, only to stop when he felt something brush against his arm, which dangled freely off the couch. Briskly opening his eyes, he reached for his knife on impulse, only to see that the softness he felt was Glenn's cheek. He frowned immediately, searching for his shirt once more. It was hanging off the side of the couch. He slipped it on, buttoning his upper body as quickly as he could. The dirty pants were nowhere to be seen.

Daryl would've wrapped himself with the blanket and conducted a search, but after listening to the kid mumble incoherently in the other room for a few hours, he decided not to. The kid was finally asleep, and although he was tumbling back and forth with worrying expressions on his face, he was snoring lightly. So Daryl lied back down, took a few glances at the boy on the floor, and absently ruffled the kid's hair.

He could've sworn Glenn leaned in to the touch.

* * *

Opening his eyes, Daryl realized he was still in the apartment with no windows. It was dark; the only lights came from the flickering torches that were wedged between furniture and walls. After his eyes scoured the area, he concluded that Glenn was nowhere in sight. After buttoning his sleeveless shirt, Daryl reached for his pants and slipped into them easily under the thin blanket. He was unsure where to begin his search but the sizzling gave away Glenn's position.

As soon as he stepped into the bedroom, he saw the kid crouched in front of the fire. Glenn slid a metal pan in his direction without looking. Daryl grumbled in thanks and sat a short distance away. Glenn shoved a spoon at his face before he could even ask "How the hell do you expect me to eat this?" Daryl ate slowly, savouring every bite of the surprisingly not overcooked meat. He ate half of the food before pushing it towards the kid, who only stared at the flames. The corner of the kid's lips quirked upwards but he shook his head.

"Found a stash of food last night. Already ate." Glenn paused, rising up to brush the ash off his jeans. Daryl glanced at his stomach, which looked a little rounder than usual. "C'mon. You slept in. It's probably after noon already. I'll be at the door."

Daryl rubbed the back of his head. "Why didn't you wake me?"

He walked towards the front door and the paragraph of insults he prepared disappeared from his mind when he saw, lying against the front door, was his treasured crossbow.

"When?" Daryl asked, turning away from Glenn so the kid wouldn't see. But he had a gut feeling that the reason Glenn crept out every night was to see if he could get the bow back. He shut his eyes tight, denying the salt water an exit. If Glenn asked, he would vehemently deny they were there in the first place with threats of decapitation and an arrow to the balls.

"You were sleeping," Glenn replied softly.

When he saw Glenn smiling, he told him, "Shut the fuck up."

After dismantling the trap and alarm system he made, Daryl followed Glenn down the stairs, out the building, down the alleys of the Old City, and into back doors. For some reason, they travelled mostly indoors, avoiding the streets as much as possible. They passed by a few potential places, small convenience stores. Glenn asked Daryl to stay outside to keep guard while he searched. But he found nothing. Glenn sighed, resigning his first of many plans and told Daryl they were headed deeper into the City.

"Why all the way here?"

"Last time I checked it wasn't looted," Glenn explained. "Too many geeks around. It's in a shady part of town. No one's stupid enough to risk it."

Daryl scoffed, "Except you."

"And you," Glenn smiled.

Glenn rolled his eyes. They passed a myriad of tanks, a few walkers, some that weren't civilians, and abandoned cars and buses. Daryl caught Glenn staring at an open alleyway. The kid mumbled something incoherent before he sped down in the opposite direction. He brought Daryl to a small pharmacy. Daryl was about to stay outside when Glenn instructed him otherwise. Daryl reluctantly followed.

"I'm going to dig around for the stuff." Glenn headed towards the back of the pharmacy. "If you find anything useful just let me know. Not sure how much room I'll have in my bag."

Daryl stayed at the front, quickly scanning the vicinity outside the glass windows. He calmed himself when he couldn't spot any walkers. The store was a mess. Racks had fallen, merchandise were scattered around, shelves were dislodged from their original positions. Daryl rifled through the things on the ground, swiping a few Twinkies for himself and, hell, why not? Some for the kid too.

After he shoved them deep into his pockets, Daryl followed Glenn behind the pharmacist's counter and looks through the medications. He skipped by the beta-blockers and antihypertensives until he found the ones he was looking for.

"My brother got the Clap." Daryl spoke proudly, eyeing stack of anti-infectives. Although the quantity of Merle's sexual exploits was vast, he was amused at how many times his brother had contracted some disease or infection. He grabbed a few bottles, one of each kind.

Glenn groaned as he ruffled through some boxes at the side. "I so don't want to know."

The clunking of bottles echoed throughout the store and Daryl saw Glenn sneaking a few into hidden pockets. Glenn smiled bashfully and quickly zoomed back to the front of the store. Taking a few quick steps, Daryl went to where Glenn was shopping and read a few of the labels. Sildenafil. Tadalafil. Levonorgestrel. Daryl shook his head, unsure of what these were used for. He pulled out the sheet of paper he got from Lori and stalked off to the feminine hygiene section.

He scanned through the fallen piles of objects, medications, and what the fuck were those things before he found one that matched what was written on the paper. Daryl looked quickly, making sure Glenn wasn't sneaking around, making sure Glenn didn't see him with what he was holding in his hands.

Daryl shot up immediately when he heard the crashing sound. He ran out of the aisle, eyes scanning the floors for any threats. A sigh escaped his throat when he found Glenn stumbling on his way up from under a pile of boxes.

"Sorry," Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. "I kind of tripped and it all just fell down."

That's when Daryl saw it. Clutched in Glenn's sweaty palms was a small box, one that claimed its contents were glow-in-the-dark and already came lubed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure this upcoming scene has probably been done a few times. I'm not famliar with other fics where this scene is revamped but hopefully mine will be different from the others out there.
> 
> I was planning to finish this story before the Season premiere but I totally failed. Everything is basically planned except for the last little bit before the ending. Just a matter of writing it all down.
> 
> P.S. I'm stoked for Season 3 tonight! I hope you all are too!


	14. Sharing Our Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Sorry for the delay. Life and all that jazz. Another episode of TWD tonight! Woooo! I demand some Daryl/Glenn interaction.
> 
> For now, please enjoy my take on how the pharmacy scene would have went if it was Daryl instead of Maggie.

"Uh…" Glenn's eyes moved back and forth hesitantly, between his hand and Daryl's face.

"The hell are those for?" Daryl gulped, anxiously gesturing towards the box of condoms in Glenn's hand. Glenn's face spread with shock, as if he didn't want to be caught with it in his hand.

"What? Me?" Glenn looked at the ground, rubbing the back of his head. "No. No." Glenn paused and then spouted his supposed reason, "P-package!"

Daryl stood tall, grabbing his dick like those gangsters did in the movies, moving it up and down under his pants. "What about my package? Seems like someone took a peek 'cause those are my size!"

"N-no. No. No!" Glenn swiftly tried to sneak a glance at the box. He smiled shyly and held his hands up high when he realized Daryl caught him looking at the condoms.

"You kissin' me while I sleep?"

"No! I wasn't… I would never…"

"What?" Daryl moved forward. "Somethin' wrong with me?"

"No, I, uh… I would never have sex, uh. I'm lost."

Daryl stared hard, eyes shifting around Glenn's face, his eyes that shone with anticipation, his lips that quivered every so slightly, the bead of sweat that slid slowly down the side of his face. Glenn gulped, and as far as Daryl knew, the kid was doing the same.

Daryl inched closed and closer, breathing louder, heavier, licking his lips after each time he felt Glenn's breath on his mouth. Glenn's gaze travelled all over Daryl intermittently breaking the intense eye contact. Glenn was moving closer too. Daryl gulped, realizing he had stopped breathing a while ago. And just when Daryl swore their lips were going to lock, Glenn roughly pushed him back.

Daryl was about to shout, call after Glenn, who stormed towards the storefront but decided not to when he saw the kid shaking his head, mumbling about denial. He remembered he had the pregnancy test in his hand, and shoved it angrily into his pocket. Daryl trailed behind Glenn silently—partially because he was suddenly left behind, partially because it was his job to watch Glenn's ass.

* * *

The evening was spent with Glenn sulking on the couch while Daryl glared at him from where he leaned on the wall—on the other side of the room. They were ambushed by walkers on the way back, resulting in a slaughterfest of the undead. It was only after they entered the fancy apartment when Glenn realized he forgot to pick up his green knapsack and the box of condoms after he put them aside to fight.

"I think this is stupid and I don't even like you much," Daryl mumbled with food in his mouth. He motioned for the wine, which Glenn passed wordlessly. Their fingers brushed for a second so Daryl reflexively grabbed the bottleneck, tightly, and yanked it out of Glenn's hands. Glenn blinked, confused at that.

When searching for more food, Glenn had stumbled upon a large bottle of wine in the pantry and gleefully handed it over. Daryl took a large swig after he opened it. Glenn smiled and retreated to the fireplace. Daryl swiped a few small bottles of liquor, downing one completely before he joined the kid for dinner. Daryl scoffed at Glenn for liking the rope Daryl brought with him. He let the kid take it anyway.

"It's a good plan, okay." Glenn pushed a piece of six-second beef between the marker lines on the floor. "We need the package. Otherwise we came all the way here for nothing."

"It's like huntin'," Daryl began, passing the bottle back to Glenn. "You get the goods and hop back to your little rabbit hole. Just go that way."

"Think of it as a game of paintball or laser tag. If you wait here in the other alley, you can clear a path for me to run to." Glenn pushed a small pea through the makeshift map before pointing at the giant broth spill behind it. "Can't run back to where I was if they're on my tail."

Glenn sighed, rubbing one of his shoulders, mumbling to himself about failure and bosses and something Daryl couldn't discern.

"Why do you do it?" Daryl found himself asking. "Go out by yourself? Why don't you take someone with you?"

"It's easier to do this by myself." Glenn answered quickly.

"Ain't much of an answer," Daryl mumbled, chewing on a chunk of meat.

"It's silly." Glenn laughed, brushing Daryl's question aside.

"Don't give a fuck." Daryl narrowed his brows. "Spill."

"It's this idea I have. That one day someone will be waiting for me. A partner. An equal. Keeps me going." Glenn said warmly.

"Got anyone like that?" Daryl teased, holding condom he got from the farmgirl in front of Glenn's face. "A partner?"

Glenn only blushed furiously, shaking his head until Daryl frowned and shoved it back into his pocket. Daryl asked if Glenn even had sex before. The kid claimed he did, boasting a bit too proudly. Daryl knew it was an act and was slightly relieved after he prodded the kid until he confessed it he embellished the story.

"Who'd want to have sex with me?" the kid had asked.

Daryl laughed at the kid and forced him to down a third of the bottle, wanting to see how red the kid could get. The kid turned red after a few minutes and Daryl snickered to himself. Glenn rolled his eyes but shifted his gaze back to Daryl after, swaying back and forth against his will. Glenn giggled repeatedly and pushed Daryl's shoulder before giving him the bottle. Daryl gave a tiny smile and downed the rest.

"…I have this idea that one day I'll have someone to return to, some place I— we can call home."

"Home?"

"Yeah. Home's not just a place; home's the heart. Home's the people you care about, the people that care about you. Home," Glenn wagged his finger at Daryl. "Is everything." Glenn pressed his lips tight and accidentally fell into Daryl's lap, causing Daryl to flinch. Probably dizzy from the drinks. Kid's face was fucking red. Glenn slurred, hiccupping in between his words, "Ohana means family."

Daryl had to bite down on his lips so the proposition in his mind would not escape his mouth. Another one came out instead.

"You know, this is a sweet place. Could see myself livin' here. Booze. Food. Couch…" Daryl looked at Glenn. He felt something catch in his throat.

"It's just an apartment," Glenn insisted. "Not a home."

"Wh—"

"Ever get that feeling that you just don't belong?" Glenn continued, interrupted. Daryl searched the kid for some kind of clue of what he was talking about. Glenn gestured at himself then the rest of the room. "Yeah, well."

Daryl remained silent then pushed Glenn's head off his lap and onto the floor. Glenn stayed quiet and remained where he was. Eventually, he sat up in front of the fire, sitting in an angle that allowed Daryl to examine is face. Glenn looked somehow let down but Daryl decided it was because the wine had run out.

"Besides," Glenn broke the silence. "I'm better off alone."

Daryl toyed with the notion of caving in to Glenn's demands. In the end, he decided to go along with the plan, lying that it sounded better than it had before. Glenn seemed to be pleased with the change of opinion. Apparently, the hot commodity that Daryl was risking his life for by travelling to the walker-infested Old City and staying in it for days were boxes of glow-in-the-dark condoms and Viagra.

Daryl walked by Glenn to put the empty wine bottles aside. He aligned them against the wall, in a corner he believed neither of the two would tread. On his way back, he saw Glenn lift his shirt, rubbing his belly with light circular motions. Daryl followed the kid's fingertips to find small discolourations. Bruises from his brother's boot. It took a few seconds for the guilt to settle in. With his back turned, Daryl felt he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Sorry," Daryl began, wanting to apologize about his inaction, but ended it differently than he intended, "About my brother."

"It happens," Glenn sighed, rubbing his arm and shaking his head jadedly. "I'm used to it."

* * *

The knapsack was easy to get. The kid drew a map of the nearby vicinity using a permanent marker. With Daryl's scouting and Glenn's craftiness, they were able to retrieve the bag and all of its contents within an hour. They brought it back to Jack, who was delighted and, because of the success of the mission, determined that Daryl and Glenn work together in the future. Daryl shook his head hesitantly and stared at the ground. Glenn smiled bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck.

The mission had ended and Daryl had finally worked up the courage to invite Glenn to stay the night instead of trekking back to wherever he lived in the dark. Daryl snuck a few condoms, and a bottle of lube that he discovered while rifling through Glenn's knapsack. After much persistence and threatening, Glenn conceded and stayed. He muttered that he was idiot for taking up the invitation. Daryl smirked.

Daryl was surprised when Glenn pulled out a small bottle of whiskey and swung it in his face. They took turns drinking—Daryl wanted both of them to consume enough to forget everything in the morning—until Glenn threw up all over his own shirt. Daryl helped him take it off, but Glenn tripped and fell to the ground, leading to where they were now: Daryl breathing heavily on top of Glenn, and Glenn rubbing small circles below Daryl's shoulders.

They stayed like that for a while. Daryl wasn't sure if he was waiting for something to happen or waiting for himself to give in. Glenn blinked innocently, as if he didn't know what was going on. But the way that Glenn's eyes kept darting down to look at his lips, Daryl eventually came to the conclusion that Glenn was scared he'd be skinned alive for even trying to get with him.

So, Daryl kissed him forcefully and was Glenn happily took it, letting Daryl nibble on his lower lip, moaning each time Daryl tried to part his lips. It was when Daryl slammed Glenn's wrists against the ground that Daryl felt something buck up against his hip. After sneaking a glance or two, Daryl saw the tenting of their pants' fabric. He eyed Glenn with such intensity that the kid seemed to melt under his gaze. Glenn nodded and Daryl ravaged his mouth while snaking a hand down Glenn's torso and under his belt buckle.

Glenn jerked to the touch. Daryl's mouth found its way to Glenn's smooth neck and perched on a patch of skin that made Glenn whimper a bit too loudly. He took the opportunity to unzip Glenn and brought a strong grip around the kid's length and pumped—slowly. Hesitantly. He licked his lips, unsure of if Glenn found his fingers enjoyable, and looked to find a pleased look on the kid's face. So he gripped harder and pumped faster.

Pulling at Daryl's shirt, Glenn tore the buttons apart with four sharp tugs. They popped, flying around the room, scattering and rolling around. A sinking feeling filled Daryl. Glenn smirked, squeezing Daryl's bicep, kissing him fiercely before he started to scour Daryl's chest. The smirk died down, transforming into a look of concern. Glenn tried to exchange a look with Daryl but Daryl's gaze was fixed on Glenn's clavicle.

Glenn wrapped his arms around Daryl and pulled him in tight. Daryl gasped from the sudden contact, unused to such affection. He eyed Glenn's head as the boy held Daryl as close to him as possible, burying his face in the crook of Daryl's neck.

"Own them. Don't let them define you." The kid pulled away and stared Daryl in the eye with the utmost understanding. "Daryl, you don't need to tell me."

Daryl shoved him against the wall, kissing him furiously, attacking the boy's lips without restraint. Glenn smiled against his lips.

"F-faster!" Glenn moaned, moving his hips in time with Daryl's hand. "Please! D-Daryl!"

What little inhibition Daryl had inside dissipated when he heard the kid moan his name. He whipped out the condom and waved it in front of Glenn's face. Glenn nodded slowly, giving Daryl all the permission he needed. He tried to yank the jeans off Glenn but had trouble. He was pulling them every which way until he got them off. He bit the wrapper, tearing it open with his teeth. Glenn gulped and grabbed it from his hands, confusing Daryl.

"I'm the man in this relationship," Daryl muttered, not looking him in the eye.

"I'm a man too," Glenn said warmly, moving closer to Daryl. The kid gazed into his eyes longingly and placed the condom on the tip of Daryl's penis, sliding it down while licking his lips. And Glenn suddenly realized, "Relation—"

Daryl knocked Glenn off his ass and pressed his throbbing, aching cock against Glenn's entrance. He took Glenn's mouth to prevent him from saying anything else. The moment was ruined when Daryl began scouring the room with his eyes.

"Daryl?"

Hearing his name made him stare at the kid. "Yeah?"

"Fuck the lube."

He was sure Glenn screamed through half of it, but the kid was begging to be taken. He was sure that the kid clawing his back was due to a combination of pain and pleasure, with less of the latter. He avoided looking in Glenn's eyes the whole time. He heard someone crying but he kept going—it didn't matter now. He was sure that they wouldn't remember this in the morning. He may have let Glenn's name escape his mouth. But he didn't give a fuck.

They somehow ended up in the bed, Glenn sitting on top of Daryl, rocking his hips back and forth, crying out in ecstacy. They groaned together in sweet release with Glenn spurting his seed all over their chests. Glenn flopped down silently beside him. The continual sound of sniffles worried Daryl, but he kept his eyes closed and wrapped an arm around Glenn's waist, hoping that his touch provided Glenn enough comfort.

Daryl breathed uneasily. Something was wrong. All was well until he woke up to desperate pleas. Merle was back. Merle was in the apartment again. Daryl stormed outside the bedroom and found that his brother cornered Glenn in the kitchen and was pulling out his knife. Daryl stood on the sides and watched as Merle toyed with the kid, edging the knife closer and closer to his skin, before landing it under his jaw.

"Don't be stupid, Darlena." Merle shook his head disappointedly. "You get hungry after half an hour after eatin' Asian."

"Merle."

"You still a faggot, lil' brother?" Merle sneered. "Eatin' out greasy little Chinese boys. Shovin' your tiny little prick in dirty shitholes?"

"D-Daryl!" Glenn called out, unable to lift his arm, barely managing to raise his head to make eye contact. Fear and rage swirled around in Daryl's gut. Merle slammed the hilt of the knife onto Glenn's head. The kid slid down the wall and slumped when his butt reached the floor.

"No!" Daryl and someone else yelled simultaneously.

A shriek pierced the air! Daryl turned and in the corner of his apartment he saw Carol holding Sophia, both of them sniffling loudly. Sophia quietly murmured about Glenn being hurt by Daryl and Merle. Confused, Daryl took a few steps back, wondering why there were here. Somehow, through all the confusion, he remembered had given them keys to the apartment to take food whenever they wanted. The realization that they were here while Daryl he was fucking Glenn senseless hit him harder than when he was hit by Merle's truck all those years ago. Carol held Sophia tightly, pressing her child into her chest to shield her from seeing the Dixons' wrath.

"No!" Daryl beseeched. "I didn't hurt him. He wanted it!"

He reached a hand out to comfort his neighbours but they recoiled, pushing themselves further into the corner, away from Daryl, Carol screeching for him to keep his hands off her daughter.

Daryl found himself swirling towards the ground. He stumbled, trying to get back on his feet but Merle pushed him back on his butt.

"If Pa finds out you've been jackin' off to coloured people—coloured  _boys_ —he's gonna whip you good!" Merle brings his face close to Daryl's, gripping his chin tight, forcing him to look away from Glenn, who struggled to remain conscious. Merle patted Daryl's cheek while he snickered. "Can't have him find out now, can we? Gotta get rid of the evidence. Just like the others. Listen to your older brother. Good ol' Merle knows what's best for you."

"Merle!" Daryl yelled.

Merle turned, staring Daryl down with the coldest look he'd ever seen. "'Sides, you ain't good enough. You ain't ever gonna be good enough. You know that."

Glenn whimpered and stared at Daryl with a look that cried for help. Daryl screamed, yelled for him to stop, but Merle jumped towards Glenn with his knife swinging and pierced Glenn in the chest regardless, laughing as he did so. Daryl ached when he saw Merle pull the blade out of Glenn, losing his breath when he saw Merle shove it back in. Daryl felt a part of him die with each and every stab. Blood dripped out from the gashes in Glenn's skin.

Soft words echoed around him—it was Glenn, calling his name in fear, in worry—as a giant hand reached out from the ceiling and grabbed his body. He stiffened at the touch and gasped for what he thought was his last breath, tossing and turning on the couch. He blinked and saw a retracting arm.

He rubbed his eyes repeatedly and took in his surroundings—they were still in that fancy-ass apartment. They were still in the Old City. Nothing had happened. Merle hadn't found out. Glenn was safe. Daryl breathed as if a great weight was coming off his chest. It was a dream.

It was just a dream.

"Nightmare?" Glenn asked from the floor.

Daryl nodded. After quickly brushing the unwanted feelings aside, he quirked a corner of his lips and stared blankly at the ceiling. His voice was dry, hoarse. "Dreamt we got hitched."

"Ha. Ha. A thousand points for Colin." Glenn sighed loudly. He opened and closed his mouth often, making Daryl impatient for the words to come—yet somehow he didn't want to hear anything at all. It seemed like forever when Glenn decided to speak again. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

Glenn made an exasperated sound and lied down, covering his face with a hat. Daryl huffed deeply in an attempt to shake off his frazzled nerves. He felt wet. A quick glance at his arms and Daryl knew he was covered in sweat. Rubbing his arm on his face, Daryl wiped his face of the large drops of salt and sighed in relief. But the relief was short, when he realized he had kicked his blanket off, the only part covered was his cock—which hardly was covered as the fabric outlined every inch, threatening to fall off with every twitch—leaving the rest of his body exposed.

"Fuck." Daryl scrambled to gather the sheet between his legs and brought it higher, turning to the side to prevent Glenn from seeing any more than he should have.

"Mm?"

"Nothin'."

Silence. It was quiet for a few minutes and Daryl finally breathed easily, thinking he could finally get some rest.

"Your scars—"

The blood rushed from out from his cock. His face flushed. Daryl shot up and snatched Glenn's wrist from the ground. The sheet covering his chest slid down to his waist. The kid winced due to the strength of Daryl's grip. He tried to get out of Daryl's grasp but couldn't. Daryl growled, yanking the kid up to look at him.

"Not one word, kid. Not a word to a single soul. Unless you want your pretty little face pounded like a pita."

Glenn gulped, nodding briskly. Daryl released his grip and the kid swiftly slammed his body against the floor. Daryl turned to face the couch, pulled the sheet over his head, and tried to sleep amidst the painful memories of himself as a weeping child that begged,  _'Please, Daddy! Please!'_

* * *

Daryl pinched himself when he watched Glenn zigzag through the road, dodging walkers left and right to grab the green knapsack. This time it wasn't a dream. When Glenn reached him, Daryl punched him lightly on the shoulder before nodding towards the alley. Glenn smiled and they jogged down the path Glenn laid out, pausing at every corner to take a look at the other side with the reflection off their knives.

Glenn led the way once more, directing Daryl to different vantage points to snipe stray walkers, only this time with more confidence. They marched into a small inner city neighbourhood, a group of a few rundown apartments with shattered windows. They travelled through many rooms—Daryl noted that Glenn somehow had access to all of them—picking up small objects here and there: an axe, a pair of silencers, a flathead and a Phillips, and AA batteries. Glenn found a pair of kicks that were less worn out than the ones he was wearing. He swapped them. Daryl found a half empty bottle of spearmint toothpaste and pocketed it. Glenn took two of the bubblegum variety.

They passed by a building boarded with wooden planks when Daryl spied something shine from the ground. He whispered to Glenn, telling the kid to stop for a few moments while he investigated.

It was a small necklace. It seemed new yet familiar to Daryl, who turned it over in his palms to get a closer look. A fish with a body. A mermaid. He noticed Glenn stare at him staring at the necklace so he abruptly shoved it in his pocket.

"What is it?"

"Looks like a girl's," Daryl said solemnly. "A necklace."

"They take people all the time in the Zone. A new gang or something. Never heard from anyone again after they vanished." Glenn looked at his shoes. "There's a saying here in the Old City: 'One and you're gone. Two might get through. Three can put up a fight. Four or more will bring the war.'"

"There are two of us."

Daryl frowned at Glenn, who shrugged, unsure of what else to say. They faced at each other, Daryl huffing loudly with an intense stare, Glenn with a warm gaze. Instead of speaking, Glenn gestured for Daryl to follow,  _this way_. And Daryl did.

"This area's pretty dead," Glenn informed. "Only walkers."

Breaking into a light jog, they left the small complex, Glenn looking back every so often to check his back. Daryl did the same. And on the way out of the sketchy neighbourhood, Daryl swore he saw a flash of blonde.


	15. Some Naïve Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news everyone! 
> 
> I've finished writing this story. It will be uploaded in its entirety after a massive editing spree. If anyone wants to beta it let me know! I'd like some input before I post the whole thing and find out a lot of people hate what I wrote.

The light flickered above Room 201 like always. Daryl huffed, digging through his pockets to find the apartment key. Glenn fidgeted behind Daryl while he was shoving the key in the slot to unlock the door. Daryl could tell Glenn was thinking about something.

"So…" Glenn began, shuffling his feet.

"So what?" Daryl asked, not bothering to turn around.

Glenn looked at the carpet. "Is your apartment empty or should I get ready to dodge the goomba?"

Only moving his head, Daryl turned and glared at Glenn who smiled sheepishly behind him. "Best take a few steps back."

The door opened and quickly looking around, Daryl guessed that Merle hadn't returned from wherever he went to. Glenn followed slowly inside and closed the door behind him. His eyes were darting around the apartment. Daryl placed his weapons down on the kitchen counter, resting his bow down carefully nearby the sink.

"Your apartment! It's clean!" Glenn gasped in disbelief from somewhere else. Daryl couldn't tell if he was teasing. Daryl walked out of the kitchen to find the kid sprawled out on the living room couch with his ass sitting in between springs that poked out of the fabric. The kid's arms were raised above his head, lifting his shirt up slightly. His legs were spread out wide. Daryl absently licked his lips. "What?"

"Nothin'," Daryl denied, shaking his head. "Don't get too comfy there, Loonette. Still gotta get the package to Jack."

Glenn released a lazy smirk and began to stretch, wiggling his behind close to a spring that threatened to stab him if he moved any closer. "It's fine, Dar—"

Daryl cut him off, "Watch yourself, kid. Don't want you losing your assginity to a metal prick." Daryl turned and stalked towards the bedroom, clamping his jaw shut. "I'ma take a nap. Wake me when you're ready to go."

He slammed the door behind him and pressed his back against it. As if Glenn was coming in, he snorted. He stared at the ceiling, tracing the little stalactites scattered all over the ceiling, and wondered what the hell he was doing.

* * *

He opened his eyes to find a familiar face looming above his. Merle smirked and slapped Daryl's cheek playfully. Daryl closed his eyes and shook his head only to realize that this wasn't a dream. His eyes shot open and he stared toward the window. It was dark. Daryl pressed his lips thin when he realized that Merle was still speaking. He managed to catch the end of Merle's sentence.

"—lucky girl."

"What?"

Merle lifted the pair of panties, dangling them in front of Daryl's face. Daryl wanted to open his eyes widely but told himself repeatedly to remain as stoic as possible. He sat up on his bed and realized he was still fully clothed.

"Keepin' all them to yourself, eh?" Merle chuckled loudly, as if Daryl wasn't in hearing range. "How about you share with your older brother." Daryl knew it was more of a statement than a question.

Daryl yanked the lacy red garment from his brother's hand and stuffed it in his pocket. "The hell have you been?"

"Out." Merle stumbled towards the window, holding onto its side for support. "I'm out bustin' my ass while you just sit around doin' nothin' all day. Good thing I'm here to watch over you. Pa always said you couldn't do shit on your own." Merle paused, as if he was contemplating something.

That was when Daryl felt something underneath him. He sat up straight at the pressure that suddenly vanished as quick as it appeared. Daryl glanced around quickly. The room was spotless, clear of grime and guts, including the gunk that festered underneath his broken window. He noticed that he had fallen asleep on top of the blanket, which somehow was hanging sideways at the bottom of the bed, its ends dangling off the sides. Merle had a large knife strapped to his side. A rifle was also slung across his back.

He was about to open his mouth when something poked him again. Daryl looked at the thin mattress beneath him and saw a little patch rise into a mound before falling slowly again. That's when Daryl knew. It was a signal.

Glenn was hiding under the bed.

"There's no food here, Merle." Daryl explained, trying to make up an excuse. "Haven't been able to scrounge up any in a while."

"Don't be silly, Darlena." Merle turned and tipped forward. Daryl panicked and almost ran to his brother to prevent his brother from falling. But Merle managed to regain his footing. "I'm sure there's plenty of pussy to go around."

Daryl eyed him. If it were any other situation, he'd probably feel proud of his brother's prowess—even though he was sure those long tales Merle spun about making out underneath bleachers with half the cheerleading squad and taking the virginity of the elusive Jenny Bell were fictional—but after a quick assessment, he knew they were in a dangerous situation.

"You high again?"

"Naw, little bro." Merle snickered. "I'm just amazin'! On top of the world!"

Daryl rose, slowly stepping off the bed, and stood by the door. Between Merle's incoherent mumblings about girls and blowjobs, Daryl tried coaxing his brother to go to the room at the other end of the hall. But Merle laughed at him after deciding that Daryl didn't really have a woman in here, that he swiped the panties from some ho next door and was sniffing them to get off. Daryl ended up having to pull his brother out of the bedroom with a little more force than usual.

"Get your smelly face outta here," Daryl rolled his eyes. His face was beet red. "Don't want you pukin' where I sleep."

Daryl slammed the door behind him. He rushed towards his bed, crouched down, and lifted the sheets to see Glenn lying on the floor, grinning goofily—with his silly red hat on.

"You could've gotten us both killed!" Daryl hissed.

Glenn rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting Daryl's eye. "My bad." The kid scooted out from underneath the bed and stood on the other side. "I passed out on the couch and the next thing I knew was that someone was trying to unlock the door. Turned out it was Carol. Gave me my hat back." Glenn paused. He looked as he was thinking. "Among other things. Woke up a while later and heard your brother's voice so I ran in here, moved your blanket, and hid under your bed."

"You should've hidden in the closet!" Daryl stomped his foot. "Not under my damn bed while my brother's around! You got a death wish?"

"The last time I did that…" Glenn sighed. "Well…"

"Okay, so maybe hidin' in the closet ain't such a good idea," Daryl grunted, his arms crossed.

Glenn's face soured immediately. He rounded the foot of the bed and stood below Daryl, fixing his hat as he spoke. "Like you'd know!" Glenn shoved a pair of panties, black, into Daryl's chest. Daryl wanted to ask where he got this but his desire was interrupted. Glenn spoke, disgusted, "Carol said this is yours." Daryl stood there, dumbstruck, fumbling with the lingerie, as Glenn left the room and rummaged through the rest of the apartment. "I'm taking the condoms!" Glenn stormed out the front door and slammed the door behind him. "And the rope!"

* * *

The group from the Clear had somehow moved overnight, from the Wall to being a couple of miles outside the Domino Block. Daryl hiked his bow up his back and inquired the reasoning for this sudden act.

"These people are stupid. Livin' out in the Clear made them weak. Can't even defend their homes."

"The walkers are in the Clear now. There's no way back home."

"The cops barricaded the gate but the walkers keep on coming. Thank God we have the Wall or we'd be screwed."

"We had no choice but to go deeper into the Zone."

Daryl found Andrea sitting in the middle of a crowd of people, under a new makeshift sign, which read  _Fishin' for Gold_. Although her body was slumped, the fact that she already had her body resting on the tabletop made her appear worse than she really was—or was she putting up a front to look stronger than she appeared? When he walked up to the stall, she looked at him with a defeated look.

"Dixon." Her elbows were pressed to her knees. Her hands were clasped tightly together.

He nodded at her. "Lookin' for the desperate housewife. Seen her around?"

Andrea shook her head. He noticed that as she stared at the air in front of her, her eyes had a glossy look. Her fingers twitched, her clothes were dishevelled and dirtier than usual.

After staring at the woman for a minute or two, Daryl rubbed his forehead. "You just gonna sit here or you plannin' on bein' useful?"

"My sister is missing, Dixon. I don't give a damn about hunters that trickle in once every two weeks looking for easy money." Her head fell onto the table.

Daryl removed the necklace from his pocket and slid it across the table, hoping to cheer her up with the sight of it. Amy liked fish. Maybe Andrea did too. Andrea sighed when she saw the trinket, rolling her eyes immediately, but she did a double take, as if it was something she hadn't expected. She lifted it up and stared hard.

"Where did you find it?" she raised the mermaid high as if she were appraising a diamond.

"The Old City. A few days ago. " He shrugged. "Why?"

Andrea gave him a look of utter disbelief then returned her attention to the necklace, rubbing the metal softly. "This necklace," she said warmly as a smile of reminiscence crept onto her face. "It's Amy's."

* * *

Daryl had to speak forcefully, sneering every word that came out of his mouth to persuade Andrea he wasn't going no matter how much she pleaded.

"You're gonna get killed before you could even get there."

"But I can shoot!" she exclaimed, holding her hands out in front of her, trying to make him understand, as if Daryl wasn't understanding a word she was saying. "I've been practicing! I'm not useless!"

"Look, you ain't goin' by yourself." He sped up. He moved faster, and faster, thinking he'd soon escape, that he wouldn't be drawn in to helping her when he didn't really want to. But she closed in behind him.

"So take me with you!"

Daryl swallowed and had to force the words out of his mouth, "I don't plan on goin' back there any time soon."

* * *

It was two days since he last saw of Glenn.

Daryl sneakily made his way to Zombie Zone Express, where he found no sign of Jack. The woman managing the stand gave him half of his pay: three condoms, a small bottle of lube, a few male performance pills, two bags of caramels, and fourteen assorted canned goods. Daryl shoved them quickly into his back, glancing around as he did so. People's nerves were frazzled. People were vanishing left and right. The Zoners were annoyed of their new neighbours. The Clears grew more anxious by the day—and it seemed that the deeper into the Zone they went, the crazier they became.

On his way back to the apartment, the deputy, the one that was in a coma, called out to Daryl.

"Dixon!" Rick ran up and clasped Daryl's shoulder. "I've found a lead! Those men that shot me. They're part of some gang from the Old City. You in?"

Daryl glared at the man and immediately the grip receded from his shoulder. "What's in it for me?"

"They live here, in the Borderlands. Just around the corner. If we arrest them your land will be safe—"

"My land? Safe?" Daryl laughed. The Borderlands didn't belong to him. He didn't belong here. He never did. "Nowhere's safe anymore. Look around Rick, we're trapped inside a large metal ring and there are walkers on both sides."

Rick had a solemn look on his face, as if he was gathering his thoughts. Daryl knew he was thinking of his family, his wife, his son, that keeping them safe was of the utmost importance. That was the kind of man Rick appeared to be.

"I can't do this by myself," Rick pleaded.

"Then get your cop friends to help you out."

* * *

After trekking up the stairs, Daryl opened the door to the empty apartment once again. He glanced around, thinking that this was just an apartment. He thought about it and never once thought it was his, not the useless spring-filled couch, the disgusting shower, the thin flimsy mattress. It just happened to be a place he dwelled between missions.

Glenn said something like that once.

And then Daryl knew he was fucked. The distraction techniques he used, constantly going out on missions, avoiding contact with other people, staying alone, and never staying in one place for too long were failing him. For some reason, Daryl felt the urge to help Andrea find her sister, help Rick find those hoodlums that put him in a coma. He crashed on his bed and tried to force thoughts of the kid out of his head.

He shut his eyes in an attempt to block any further thoughts of Glenn. But images of the kid in compromising positions and sounds of his voice echoed his head. And Daryl knew there was only one way to get them out. He unzipped his pants, slipped his hand underneath his panties, and stroked one off.

"Let us in!"

Daryl awoke to a collage of screams. Outside his window, he saw that there was a wide perimeter around the Domino Block. Cops, Daryl rolled his eyes. People from the Clear bunched up in small groups around the small mesh fence. Daryl saw Theo and a few other guards, five in total, more than usual, pacing the fence, pointing their guns at anyone who came too close. In the alley, he saw Rick's kid and Sophia playing together, climbing the RV and pretending they were on the lookout.

Merle wasn't here. He was gone again, off doing—Daryl didn't bother. Instead, he unpacked his bag, organizing the cans of food in his cupboard. Placing a few aside, Daryl counted how much his neighbours would need until he took another job. A frown grew when he realized that the silly woman probably didn't even pay her rent yet.

He walked out the door, balancing six cans on one of his arms. After knocking tentatively, Daryl waited for the door to open. As soon as he saw the little girl, Sophia, Daryl grabbed a can and handed it to her. She took the tin without complaint but Daryl noticed she was eyeing him warily. Carol walked up to the door and smiled. It wasn't warm, wasn't genuine.

"Oh, hello."

"You payin' your rent?"

Carol looked at the ground. "Yes, I—"

"How?" Daryl interrupted. "Seems like the only thing you do around here is wash my clothes." She smiled sheepishly. "Glenn?" She stared at the floor. Frustrated, Daryl rubbed his forehead. "That stupid kid." Daryl paced back and forth, wondering how self-sacrificing this kid must be before he'd go too far.

"You and Glenn have a fight?" Carol asked. "He seemed pretty upset the other day, storming out of your apartment like that."

"It's not mine," Daryl said too quickly. It wasn't  _his_  apartment; it was an apartment, one he rented out. It was a place he lived, where he came back to in between jobs. Just an apartment. Not a home.

"So it's his then?" But it was more of a statement. She had a look on her face, telling Daryl that she thought there was more than met the eye. Daryl frowned when he realized what Carol was implying.

Daryl grumbled and plodded back towards the apartment— _his_  apartment. Not Glenn's. Not his and Glenn's. "Mind your own damn business."

"I haven't seen him in a while," Carol said from her door. "It's not like him not to visit."

Rummaging around his apartment, Daryl collected tins of food and bloodstained shirts. He went back outside and marched to Carol's door. Daryl dropped his dirty clothes on the floor with a few cans of food wrapped inside, knocked on her door, spun around, and stomped down the hall while Glenn's words echoed in his head. Some naïve hope that someone would help him because he was helping others.

_"Who's going to care about the people who can't care for themselves?_ "

* * *

Daryl groaned as he slid off the bed. After he swung his feet off the bed, he idled at the side, tracing the scars on his stomach with his fingers. Memories of his childhood flooded his mind and Daryl couldn't help but bite his lip to keep the noise from coming. He raised a fist to his mouth, pressing it against his lips, and stifled a sniffle.

He tried to ignore the haunting feelings by thinking of anything and everything else. He thought of Merle, the older brother who was tougher than nails, who tried to raise him the best he could. He thought of that time he was lost in the forest and made sandwiches when he found his way home. He thought of when it happened, how the world plunged into chaos. He thought of those countless mindless missions that allowed him to hunt. He thought of Glenn. But the distractions didn't work anymore.

Daryl's teeth ground against one another as he slammed a fist onto the mattress. No matter how much he tried to deny it, these scars weren't leaving.  _"Own them. Don't let them define you."_  Daryl shook his head vigorously and came to when he heard someone yell from the kitchen.

"Stupid little fucker!" Merle snarled.

Daryl rushed out of the bedroom and found Merle towering over something behind the countertops. His brother had a raised fist, slowly swirling above his target, following them slowly towards the end of the room. Merle stepped forward, moving slowly, and when he passed the sink something thumped against the kitchen cabinet.

Glenn?

"Merle? What's goin' on?" Daryl asked, trying to get a better look at the person. The cupboards were thrown open, many of them bare, except the one where he kept the food. A can rolled, hitting his boot, drawing Daryl's attention away from his brother.  _Glenn!_  Daryl growled internally, taking a deep breath through his nose. He called for his brother once more, "Merle!"

"No one steals from a Dixon," Merle sneered downwards.

Scattered around the floor, Daryl saw a clothes. There were mismatched socks, two sleeveless shirts, and a pair of pants, the ones he wore during the condom run, the ones he wore to the Old City, the ones he gave Carol to wash. Daryl rushed towards the kitchen, taking long large strides, pausing to see an unzipped doll sitting on the countertop.

Sophia.

Daryl moved faster, extending his legs as far as he could with each step.

And Daryl did something he never thought he'd do. Daryl called his brother, wanting to divert his attention. "Merle!" Daryl yelled, commanding his brother to look at him. Merle did, snickering, rubbing something white off from under his nose. "You got somethin' on your nose."

Merle turned to face Daryl, surprised to find his little brother rushing with such speed his way. Daryl stomped toward his older brother, raised a fist, and punched him square in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re the panties: While on Talking Dead, James Allen McCune (Jimmy) said Norman Reedus (Daryl Dixon) sometimes wore women’s underwear while filming.


	16. Looking for Answers

Daryl had promptly returned Sophia to Carol, who fretted over her daughter, fixing her hair as she thanked Daryl repeatedly for his actions. Carol had given the key to Sophia to retrieve some food, unaware of the existence of Merle. Daryl tried to appeal to her better nature and demanded that she take action from now on, not her little girl.

After receiving a few short whimpers, he turned to face Sophia, told her that she should learn who to trust, and that even though Merle was scary, Daryl knew he could count on him. He obscurely described how Merle was the one who raised him in place of his parents—skimming only the surface of his past—that even though Merle lied to him sometimes or harmed him, Daryl could trust Merle to do right by him. He explained that Merle was the one he cared about, that Merle was family, that family was the ones people care about, that family were the people you loved.

She nodded, as if she understood, saying that Daryl only hit Merle because Merle was hurting himself. He gave a quick nod and stood to leave. Daryl shook his head at the thought of Merle, stopping to listen to Sophia's soft voice call out.

"What about Glenn? Will you hit him too?"

* * *

What about Glenn? Daryl thought, glancing at his brother, who was still passed out on the floor. He shook his head debating Sophia's words, wondering what significance they held—if they held anything at all. Daryl pushed her warning aside, brushing it aside as just another one of those darndest things children say.

He opened the tavern doors to surprisingly find it filled to capacity. All the tables were full of people, the right side of the room, comprised of people in clean clothing, was laughing obnoxiously, while the left spoke, everyone in dirty tattered outfits, in hushed volumes. Daryl walked to the left, striding with his gaze fixed on an empty barstool in an attempt not to make eye contact.

Daryl ordered a pint of the house ale and heard a small grumble beside him. It was a skinny man lying over the counter with a dirty hat that covered his face. The man' hands, sprawled on top of the counter were greasy and thin, one hand tapping the bar top, the other clutching a mermaid necklace. That's when he realized it wasn't a man.

"Andrea?" he asked cautiously.

She groaned, turning slightly to eye him peripherally. "What do you want, Dixon?"

He looked away shamefully, unsure what to say. Sure it sucked to lose your sibling, Daryl had gone through that many a time when he was a child. But Merle always came back—eventually. Instead of whispering meaningless apologies, Daryl said, "She walked home alone, didn't she?"

"Yes. It was her birthday. She said she was a grown woman." Andrea began. Daryl knew she wouldn't stop talking, so he listened. "She always wanted to be like me, copying everything I did. Wanted to be strong. Wanted to be independent. That's why she started her business. Ended up bringing more food than I did. All I had was gun training with Shane and Dale and his stupid RV."

Andrea released an anguished groan, burying her face in her hands. Daryl sat there awkwardly, unsure whether to pat her on the shoulder or brush her hair. He opted to hand her a dirty do rag instead. She blew her nose on it.

"I can't do this without her," she explained. "She was what was kept me going."

"She's gone." Daryl looked at the ground. "Best to move on."

"Home isn't a time or a place; home is where the heart is. You can't just leave it and expect to leave in one piece—you can't expect to be left whole. You don't understand, Dixon. Don't you have someone worth fighting for?"

* * *

Daryl returned to the apartment to find Merle with his head thrown back on the couch.

"What made you decide to grow a pair?" Merle questioned, rubbing a finger under his nose, sniffling quietly.

Daryl ignored the taunt and stomped off to his room. "Don't you have somewhere to disappear to?" He snarled, kicking off his boots.

Merle didn't reply, so Daryl crashed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the agonizing screams coming from outside the window. Yet another person being eaten alive.

* * *

It was weird having Merle around this long without snorting a line of coke. So Daryl watched his brother with wariness from the other side of the room, crossing his arms tighter with each day that went by. Merle was pacing back and forth, fiddling with his rifle, muttering about getting shit done, catching something, and something about moose. Merle crouched in a corner and rifled through his belongings stuffed in the bag marked with swastikas.

Daryl had been checking outside the front door, listening for that familiar knock, Glenn's rhythmic beat, but he never heard it. Even Carol hasn't heard from him.

Daryl went back to his room and rummaged through his bag, searching for the bottles that he grabbed while in the pharmacy, unopened cases of antibiotics for his brother. The worry began to settle in when Daryl couldn't find it. He zipped the bag up and searched in the main pocket again. Nothing. The other pockets were devoid of pills as well. He wondered who else had access to his bag. Daryl's eyes opened wide.

Daryl rushed out of the bedroom and found Merle swallowing a few pills. In Merle's hand, was one of the bottles Daryl brought back, the ones for Merle's Clap. After he downed them, Merle smirked his way. "Knockin' up bitches in the apocalypse?"

"What?"

"You heard me." Merle reached into the bag and pulled out a small cardboard box and tossed it Daryl's way. "Who's the lucky pussy?"

Leaning forwards, Daryl managed to catch the box in midair. The pregnancy test. "You went through my stuff."

Merle took a look at the clucking chicken and licked his kips. "Ain't no big deal. Did it all the time when you were a kid. Can't hide anythin' from me, Doreen." Merle laughed haughtily, gesturing a pair of fingers at his eyes then at Daryl. "Big brother is watchin' you!"

* * *

On the day Merle vanished, Daryl decided to leave the apartment as well. The food supply was running low and he realized he hadn't picked up his pay from the condom run. Daryl scoffed at himself for believing Merle would stay for once. Rumbling voices woke him up from his somewhat decent slumber so he decided to find the source. As soon as he stepped outside, he found Theo standing just outside the building entrance.

"What's with the crowd?" Daryl asked. Lined up around the small metal fence was a group of people, looking inwards into the Domino Block. Many were shouting, others were crying.

"Walkers." Theo shrugged Daryl's confused glare off. "They're coming in from the Clear. Broke the cops defences at the Wall last night. They're looking for some place to safe go to. People are scared, Dixon. People aren't people when they're scared."

"Anyone get eaten alive by that mob yet?"

"No, Jim walked out there earlier this morning and only got yelled at. Don't know why though. Guys like that don't have the power to change anything. Weird thing is he never came back."

"What about my brother?"

"Can't help you there." Theo looked downcast. "The crowd for the most part goes away at night."

Daryl took his chances.

He exited the gate, which had three guards standing a few feet away. Five cops held back the surging crowd that demanded access to the apparently safe haven with warnings that rapists lived inside. Daryl was on the receiving end of boos and jeers, many offers to share his apartment for food, sex, and weapons. He kept his eyes forward with his head slightly raised. He had his bow in hand.

It took five minutes to manoeuvre out of the crowd. He passed unfamiliar faces, clean faces. He walked down the streets of the Borderlands, slowly coming to the realization that its previous inhabitants were being pushed inwards, deeper into the Zone, and that those from the Clear were taking their place. Daryl scowled, wondering if he'd be the next to go.

It wasn't long before he found the new assortment of stalls. Although there was more space in the field they had settled in, there were less vendors, less people milling around. Weapons stalls had a limited selection of options, food vendors proclaimed they were running out of canned goods and were depending on hunters to return with meat, and foragers to return with mushrooms and berries. Some people even tried to start farming to no avail.

A middle-aged man explained that many hunters had decided to take up arms against the walkers that pushed them into the Zone, many of them working for free. People from the Clear didn't like it here. Everything about the Zone seemed unsafe to them, the people, the walkers, the terrain, it didn't matter.

In the edge of the field, Daryl spotted the sheriff hat chase someone close to the woods. Judging from the size of the wearer, Daryl deduced it was not Rick, but Carl. Daryl surged forward when he heard the familiar laugh.

He hid behind a stall and leaned over to catch a glimpse of the person Carl was chasing. Sophia. Carl ran forward, reaching out to tap her back lightly. He wheezed loudly, placing his hands on his knees for his support before claiming that she was it. Daryl gave a small wave, receiving two bright smiles back. She closed her eyes and counted aloud. Carl ran toward his direction so Daryl moved aside as quickly as he could and continued his search.

Daryl was slightly relieved when he spotted Zombie Zone Express. The stall was the largest one there, bordered by various wooden walls with ZZE painted on each panel. Although he knew that such a business would only continue to expand. Delivering things was their forte and apparently no one knew how to navigate in the Zone better. Daryl was heading for the stall when he was cut off by a familiar voice.

"Hey! Dixon!" Daryl turned to see Rick waving an arm, running in his direction. "I need your help."

"I thought I told you to ask your cop friends."

"They're making sure everyone's fine, minimizing animosity between the two groups," Rick began. "I'll pay you. I have guns."

Daryl flinched, remembering he stole a bag of them from Rick's house long ago. "Look, I'm not much use…"

"That's fine!" Rick looked relieved. Daryl quickly realized that Rick misinterpreted his words. He opened his mouth to retract his statement but was cut off by a relieved Rick. "There's only one of them there. All the others stayed in the Old City." Rick grabbed his hand and shook it. "Thanks for your help. Much obliged. I'll meet you tomorrow morning. Uh, that tree over there."

Daryl followed Rick's outstretched arm. He sighed dejectedly. "Which one? That's a forest."

After hearing Rick's detailed lead on some guy who was involved in putting him in a coma, Daryl stalked towards Zombie Zone Express. He eyed the large group of people scurrying about. A man stood in the middle, barking orders at the individuals, explaining who ordered what and where the packages were going.

"Hey, Dixon!" Jack called out, waving him over. "You down for a job? Got a few guns up for grabs. Sittin' in the back. Your pick of the lot."

Daryl stepped towards her slowly, his thumbs in his pockets. "What is it?"

"Trip to the Old City. Scouting mission. Bring back evidence of that new gang everyone's been talking about. Glenn's heading there in two days. Didn't want him to go alone so I told him he needed backup. He could have chosen anyone. Partnered with anyone." She cupped her cheek in her palm, with a perplexed look on her face. "But he specifically asked for you."

Daryl almost dropped his jaw. "He what?"

"I'm surprised too." Jack said slyly. "Glenn never asks for help. So you can imagine how shocked I was when I heard him say your name."

Something was growing inside him, threatening to burst through his skin. Daryl was about to leave when she spoke up behind him.

"And Dixon?" she began. He turned his head, keeping his back toward her. "This time, don't screw it up."

* * *

Daryl slid between the booths sneakily, standing around when someone was within sight, crouching and speeding by when they were gone. He picked up some of Glenn's tricks by watching him: tread lightly, tread fast, check your six. Daryl nearly jumped when he found Rick, who was strolling through the makeshift trading centre with his hands on his hips and holster. Daryl dropped to the ground and crawled behind an empty cop car, trying to ignore the way the grass brushed against his skin, and that one friggin' rock that bumped into his crotch.

Daryl had left the apartment before dawn to avoid the crowd that daily demanded entrance into the Domino Block. Theo greeted him with two obnoxious yawns, claiming to have pulled a double watch shift the night before. The walkers that came in from beyond the Clear broke into the Borderlands, spreading near and far. The large horde had broken off into smaller groups. Daryl wasn't sure whether that was good or not. Sure they were easier to take out, but that meant there'd be nowhere safe to run—not that there was anywhere safe to hide.

As soon as Rick went to the other side of the field, Daryl made his way on all fours, crawling to keep out of his sight, toward where he thought Lori would be. He found her, sitting on a wooden box, fingering through a large book. He tiptoed towards her, greeting her with a "Psst!" when he was close. She jumped, dropping the large photo album in her hand.

"Dixon," she breathed, pressing her fingertips above her breastbone. "You scared me."

"Here." Daryl pulled the pregnancy test from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Took you long enough," Lori hissed. But she grabbed his hand, shaking it in gratitude.

"Came to find you yesterday. Found your husband instead." He crossed his arms. "He don't know, does he?"

Lori shook her head when she placed the test in the photo album. She closed it and looked back up at him. "Don't let him know." Daryl blinked, staying silent. "I'll get you your pay—"

"Dixon!" someone called out. Daryl angled his head and found Rick waving at him. "Went to the tree! Didn't see you there."

Lori eyed Daryl, nodding ever so slightly. Daryl understood the hint and explained himself, "Lookin' for other jobs. Was headed there after getting' some deets."

Rick smiled but Daryl could detect the distrust in his eye. "Hard to make a living these days?"

Daryl scoffed. "Take a look around."

The smile Rick gave seemed to be genuine enough but Daryl wasn't sure that what he said was the reason behind it.

Rick led Daryl out of the field, away from the people, and walked towards the centre of the Zone. During the walk, Rick explained that the man they were going after was part of some notorious gang, one that killed many people to get what they wanted, one that captured children and used, no, abused, them for their dirty work. Daryl clenched his fists tight at that. The main branch of the gang worked from out east and set up another base in the Old City. Their power grew enough for them to spread to the smaller towns.

Some cops in the Old City managed to catch a few underbosses in the act and chased them out of the city. They had raced in a car from county to county, shooting people as they went. Rick was called out by another sheriff in another town over and warned him of the chase. Rick and his officers managed to stop them on a lonely two-lane road. The car flipped over and the underbosses came out guns loaded. Shots were fired from both ends. Rick and his crew managed to take down one of the men before Rick was shot. In the end, Rick's men chose to save his life instead of catching the perpetrators. Two of them escaped on foot.

"Now, I've only got a lead on one of them. Not sure where the other one went."

Rick led Daryl through the Borderlands, telling him his story while sticking to the small roads. They passed by a building covered in various words and phrases. Outlandish remarks and arrows pointing to safe havens were scattered across the side in spray paint. There were pictures too. A decapitated walker. A man with a large axe. Two squiggly circles with a dot in each of them and a penis in between. They passed a dry dirt path and a pile of rubble.

It was after he saw the familiar surroundings when Daryl realized where they were headed. Daryl tried to hide his anxiety by aiming his bow randomly in the distance. He asked, hoping his hunch was incorrect, "Where are we headed?"

"It's this place. Six buildings surrounded by a small metal mesh fence. The Domino Block. Heard of it?"

Daryl tried not to show any signs of acknowledgement. "What's the douche look like?"

"White. Tall. Racist. Balding."

Daryl's eyes opened wide.

There was someone he knew who fit that description well.

The Domino Block was within sight. Daryl gulped. The crowd of civilians stopped yelling when they laid their eyes on Rick. Daryl eyed the crowd, noticing that there were more than before, each one yelling for safety. In one corner of his eye he saw teenagers throwing rocks, in the other he saw the same-sex couple and their children. Rick moved forward, somehow parting the crowd with his presence.

"This really a good idea, Moses?" Daryl raised his bow higher and followed closely behind.

Rick said nothing.

Daryl shook his head in denial. Merle had done some stupid shit in the past but shooting a freaking cop? Daryl gripped his bow tight, following Rick to the small gate, where two Block guards and five cops were, holding the crowd back by waving batons in their hands. Daryl flashed a paper and they were allowed inside. The crowd behind them roared.

"Which building?" Daryl looked at Rick, who contemplated. There were six buildings. What were the odds of the guy who shot Rick living in his? What were the chances that they were going after Merle?

Rick stepped to the left, going for the one at the end. Daryl almost sighed in relief. He gratefully followed Rick, who paused at the door.

"This isn't the one." Rick gestured at the front patio. "No broken flower pot."

And then they moved to the next one, the one behind it. Then the one beside it. It didn't have the pot either. They skipped the next because it wasn't beige. And the next. And the next. Rick stopped in front of the building Daryl lived in.

"This the one?" Daryl fidgeted with his shirt.

Rick looked at it, giving it a once over before sighing, "This is the one."

They entered.

Hopefully the asshole lived on the first— Rick went up the stairs.

"Which floor?" Third, Daryl hoped. Fourth, even.

"Second."

Daryl followed Rick up the staircase, gulping as quietly as he could. Daryl shook his head in disbelief. Rick wasn't shot by Merle. Merle was his brother for crying out loud. There were four floors in the building and four apartments on each floor. Odds were, Daryl was being led to his own apartment.

He spied his apartment door slightly ajar and felt his heart rate quicken. A shadow briefly flickered against the hallway's wall opposite of the door. Merle's back, Daryl thought. Daryl wondered how to ask Rick to call off the mission, thinking of all the times Merle vanished in his childhood, the questionable people he brought home, the drugs, the money, and all of the times he was vanishing now. Daryl wasn't sure Merle would want to return to jail, especially one in this day and age.

But when Rick stopped moving, Daryl wanted to feel relieved that the apartment they were heading too wasn't his. But he didn't. Daryl became more anxious—shivering as the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end—when Rick pulled out his gun and closed in on Room 201.


	17. All Hope's Lost

Rick held his gun behind him before he knocked slowly on Room 201. Daryl darted his vision, repeatedly changing his point of view from the apartment and his front door, which was slightly ajar. Rick's knuckles banged on the door lightly, its sound echoed down the hall clearly. Daryl looked towards his apartment and when Rick called for the door to be opened, he saw another shadow flicker from across the hall.

Daryl's eyebrows narrowed at the sight.

Daryl lifted his foot and turned towards it only to be interrupted by the neighbour he never got a look at, the man from Room 201. He was a middle-aged man with thinning dark brown hair. His heard was scruffy, untamed, as if it hasn't been trimmed in days. Suddenly, a tension filled the hallway as Rick nodded towards the man, who tilted his head in confusion, curiosity.

"Hello, I'm Officer Rick Grimes, I was wondering if—"

The man suddenly pushed past Rick, using a shoulder to push the sheriff over before gunning down the stairs. The man stomped down, jumping two steps at a time, holding a hand close to the railing for balance.

"Let's go!" Rick yelled, raising his gun after the man.

Daryl turned to his apartmentand saw his own shut with a surprised gasp coming from behind the flimsy wood. Rick's call for help garnered his attention. Daryl grumbled, raised his bow and ran down the stairs.

There was no sign of either man when he reached the first floor, so Daryl ran outside. Rick was chasing the man towards the fence of the Domino Block. People jeered at the sight, egging Rick on, cheering for justice or something along those lines. Daryl was about to slow down when he saw the man's hand reach downwards into his pants. It was when the man's hand was retracting when Daryl realized he had a pistol. So instead of letting an innocent bystander die, Daryl raised his bow, without focusing on his target, and fired.

* * *

Daryl growled, cupping the beer bottle that was shoved into his hands earlier that day. The crowd had gone wild when the arrow that Daryl aimed for the man's leg hit him in the back instead. The man died shortly after. They weren't sure if it was from shock or pneumothorax but the crowd was glad either way. As soon as some cops dragged the body into the woods, people chanted, demanding that the man's room be raffled off. Someone argued that no one should live in the room of a murderer, but their concerns were drowned out by the crowd.

He took a sip from the rare bottle that drew the eyes of many. People in the tavern were whispering tales of how he took down the man from Room 201, causing Daryl to raise his shoulders and lower his head. He was apparently a hero of sorts. He was a defender of hope. Or some shit like that. Unused to the attention, Daryl felt the heat rush to his face.

He nearly sighed when someone spoke of a woman planning to run off with some guy toward the Old City. The topic changed swiftly, travelling from one side of the establishment to the other, crossing the wide space between those originally from the Borderlands and those from the Clear. The insanity of this pair caused people to wonder: why?

Dale talked to him when the crowd became loud and unruly, the two sides of the room showering threats of animosity toward each other. Something about the Domino Block and safety. Something about walkers. Something about his RV and a long trip. Something about coming along. But Daryl shrugged him off when his thoughts returned to the kid and Room 201 and how the fuck Glenn managed to get himself wrapped up in that shit.

Daryl buried his sorrows and confusion in the drinks that kept on coming. People from the Clear had given him their stamp of approval, while those from the Borderlands stared him down.

Rick came by, clasping Daryl on the shoulder as he gave his thanks. Daryl shrugged repeatedly, trying to get the hand off. Rick offered to get Daryl another drink, and by offered, Rick meant I'm getting you one regardless of your answer. It took his wife to get him out of the bar. She had come into the tavern, flailing her arms in every which direction, hissing something into his ear. Rick's eyes shot open wide. He patted Daryl on the back before he left.

After a long night, Daryl stumbled his way back to the apartment.

* * *

On his way to the Domino Block, Daryl was ambushed.

"Hey, you!" someone yelled. "You the crossbow hunter I've been hearin' about?" Daryl gave him a confused look but the man gestured at his back. It was Shane. "I see your bow. No point in denyin' it."

Daryl grumbled, "Just 'cause I have one don't mean I'm the guy you're lookin' for."

"I heard you do jobs. I heard what you did today." Shane whispered, wrapping an arm around Daryl's shoulders. Daryl jerked his shoulders so Shane removed the unwanted touch immediately. "A buddy of mine needs a little… assistance."

Daryl glared at him when he understood what Shane was asking. "I don't do that shit. You got the wrong guy." Daryl growled when the man began to follow him though the gate.

"C'mon, man."

Daryl hoisted his bow then aimed it at the large man, who raised his arms and slowly backed off into the darkness. "What? Do  _you_  need a little assistance?"

* * *

Daryl made his way up the stairs, back to the apartment. The beer, although weak, affected him heavily. The booze, although watered down, had a greater affect because he hadn't eaten much before drinking it. He fell onto his bed trying to understand what was happening, struggling to keep his eyes open against the growing fatigue.

Rick had said that man from Room 201 was involved in some car chase that spanned from the Old City to the outer counties. But what reason would Glenn have for knocking on their door with a cardboard box every few days? What was the stuff? And why would he go there at night?

Daryl growled at the thought of the kid whoring himself out. Not that he thought the kid was. The kid couldn't keep a secret. He had no guile. He had no tact.

And what about the Hispanic boy, Miguel? Why did he knock on the door too?

Daryl thought of the first mission with Zombie Zone Express, how when he brought the guns to the small hut in the Borderlands the man gave Daryl a small box that was heavier than it looked.

He shook his head repeatedly. There was no way. Daryl's head felt heavy as he tried to think, throbbing with each and every thought he tried to put together. They had shot Rick. That was clear enough. But what was it that Rick had said?

Two men had escaped.

That one of them was tall, white, racist, and balding.

That they were part of some gang.

That they killed people to get what they wanted.

His eyes opened wide when he realized, when he understood, that Glenn was truly horrible at keeping secrets, that the kid had in fact told him the truth.

"Fine, you caught me." Glenn sighed, rolling his eyes as he spoke, "I'm secretly part of the mafia."

* * *

Unable to get any sleep, Daryl stormed out of his apartment with flashlight and knife in hand. He closed his door quietly and tiptoed towards the room under the dead bulb. He stopped, taking in a deep breath as he stared at the bronze numbers nailed to the door of Room 201.

Daryl twisted the knob and opened the door.

The apartment was a mess. It was just like Daryl's but with miscellaneous objects strewn around. There were clothes scattered across the couch, the kitchen counters, and the floor. There were ashes here and there, needles in a jar of fluid, a bag of some drug he'd never seen before. There was a pile of large metal gizmos that Daryl couldn't recognize in between a stack of porn magazines and scrap papers. Daryl took a closer look to see the numbers running up and down the sides, the figures and diagrams that covered each one, the ones with detailed maps and plans with arrows pointing in between what looked to be corridors and streets.

Confused, Daryl dropped the sheets back onto the floor to see the messy kitchen filled with unwashed pots and pans, cans of food similar to the ones that Glenn had given him, the ones that Glenn also gave to Carol and Sophia. The hallway had cobwebs hanging from the walls, the bedroom looked as if it was untouched. He sat on the bed and dust flew around him.

The bedroom walls were bare, empty, as if no one lived there, as if the man who lived here never got any sleep. Daryl wondered what the hell was going on and what the fuck the kid was doing.

* * *

Daryl woke feeling the sun's unbelievable warmth and the room's humidity. He hadn't expected to find himself waking up, especially after developing countless theories in his head of why and how the kid got involved with the mob. Something wrenched in his chest at the thought. His notion of the kid had changed overnight from innocent onlooker to shady accomplice. Daryl gritted his teeth and tried not to think about the kid.

A quick walk to his window and he saw that there were people milling about the alleys in between the six buildings. There were cops and people from the Block in between the building Dale and the girls lived and his. The fences were still lined from people in the Clear. Although Daryl noticed that one section of the fence fell down, outwards, as if something rammed it down. Judging from the sun, it was still morning.

He spotted Rick pointing at different cops then pointing at different sections of the fence. It seemed the man was giving orders, barking them, although Daryl couldn't hear. Shane was beside Rick, standing tall but with tense shoulders. Daryl wondered if he was side-eying Rick uneasily.

He looked into Dale's window, expecting to find the man engage in his usual activities. But he didn't find the man walking back and forth in his stupid hat, he didn't find the man consoling Andrea, who had lost Amy a few weeks ago, he didn't find the man at all—which struck Daryl as odd, as the man never left the apartment before noon.

Another quick glance at the alley and Daryl noticed that the RV was gone.

* * *

Daryl opened the door slightly and peered down both ends of the hallway. The door to Room 201 had been barricaded with yellow caution tape. A few cops that stood nearby it nodded in approval when they saw Daryl poke his head from behind his door. Daryl pressed his lips thin and returned the gesture. The cops entered the apartment while whispering rumours about another kidnapping. Another sighed, explaining this wasn't new. The last cop closed the door behind her gently.

He was just about to exit the building when he heard a familiar sniffle. In the corner nearby the main entrance, sitting on a wobbly wooden chair was Carol. She rubbed her eyes furiously, pressing down onto her lids. Beside her was Sophia's doll. It was flat. Empty.

"What's the matter?" Daryl asked, slowly making his way to the weeping woman.

Carol sniffed, rubbing her eyes. An idea filled Daryl's mind but he shook his head, hoping that he was wrong.

Her words only affirmed his worries, "Sophia's gone!"

* * *

Daryl had stood awkwardly as he watched Carol weep. The words from her mouth wove tales of her life before Ed, her husband, had died, before all this happened. She spoke of when Sophia was a baby and how she grew up. Her stories came detailed, lengthy, and with sniffles in between. After, she told of how Glenn came by the other day with some food, explaining he was about to embark on some mission and might not come back for a long time. An odd sense of relief filled Daryl. The kid wasn't stupid enough to get kidnapped—at least Daryl hoped. Carol explained that Sophia probably went to Daryl's apartment to take food, like Glenn did many times before.

He nodded gruffly, unsure how to comfort the woman. In the end, he gave her a handkerchief and said he'd find her little girl.

Daryl asked a few people in the apartment lobby if they saw any signs of her. They all denied seeing Sophia. Another scoffed, laughing that Daryl was actually looking. "Probably eaten by a walker. Hopefully. If she got lucky."

Daryl raised his fist and the man stepped back with his arms up high, scurrying backwards in fear of missing teeth.

The search around the first floor of the apartment is fruitless. There are signs of other residents all around, from moved pictures and smudges on glass to hair ties and discarded hats. Daryl turned and made his way to the alleys, where he often saw Sophia pushing the ball back and forth with a stick. There's dirt everywhere and some cops stare at him from afar.

Daryl peered behind a dumpster and saw a raccoon's carcass, bloodied and rotten, which was torn to shreds. He doesn't gag. On the asphalt he spied a pair of lacy bottoms and a used condom. There was an old boot where a cockroach made its new home.

On the other side of the alley, something sparkled, catching his eye. Daryl snaked around the cops, ignoring their questions and the melange of dirty and supportive looks, to find a line of rope marking where the Dale's RV used to be. A cop pushed at him but Daryl shoved back with a little bit more force, causing the woman to stumble.

A rush of cops came to the woman's aid when she cried out for help. They pulled at Daryl, asking him to leave because an investigation was underway. As they pulled Daryl away, he saw something he didn't expect to see. In the centre of the rope was Sophia's ball.

* * *

The cops brought Daryl to another alley. He glared at them when they asked him to sit down. Apparently someone wanted to talk to him. Daryl rolled his eyes. He killed some gangster the cops have been trying to get for ages and suddenly he's their lapdog. Someone stood watch at all times. Others came by, whispering about finding a hat where the RV was parked. And even though Daryl did something good, they all had that look in their eyes, that tone when they spoke to Daryl, that only led Daryl to believe something he always knew: you don't belong here.

Daryl grumbled, staring at the brick walls that surrounded him. His tinkered with his bow as he waited, pulling on the string, tightening gears, wiping the trigger clean.

Footsteps garnered his attention. Daryl stood and turned to find Rick standing at the end of the alley.

"I need your help again, Dixon." Rick called out.

Daryl turned, raised his shoulders and spat, "What do you want this time?"

Daryl eyed Rick warily, wondering what revelation the man's actions would lead Daryl to discover next. But Daryl caught a glimpse of worry, of fear, in the sheriff's eyes. The man looked ruffled, unsure of anything anymore, as if he'd lost everything in his life.

And when Daryl saw the sheriff's hat in his hands, he knew.

"My son." Rick choked, stumbling on his own words. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes tightly before he continued to speak, "Carl's missing."

* * *

In the end, Daryl listened to more stories of childrearing and life before. Rick drawled on about Lori and Carl and Shane and people Daryl didn't even fucking know. Daryl tried not to grit his teeth as he waited for the reminiscing to end. But it never came. Daryl stood abruptly, catching Rick off guard.

"Look." Daryl shook his head. "I'm already on the look out for a missin' girl. If I see your boy I'll let you know."

Rick stared at Daryl, face hardened, jaw tight, as if he didn't want to show Daryl his relief. "Thank you."

After telling him a description of Sophia, Daryl brushed the man off and stormed out of the Domino Block. He headed toward the pub and found Theo at the counter. Daryl was about to call his name out when he saw the man lift a tray of drinks and bring it across the room the corner. Daryl rushed toward the corner booth when he recognized who sat there. He reached out and grabbed Dale's shirt, yanking him off his seat.

"Sophia," Daryl spoke harshly. "The little girl. What'd you do to her?"

"What?" Dale's eyes shot open, widening at the accusation.

"The little girl. Her ball was where your RV was."

"And you think I took her somewhere?"

"Where else would she be?"

Dale began in a calm tone, "You walked here, right?" Daryl nodded. "Did you see my RV outside?" No. "And why would I drive it out here? An old man like me would be beaten to the ground and left to be eaten!"

Daryl slowly placed Dale down and got a disconcerting look from Theo. Daryl gritted his teeth and Theo turned, taking the tray back to the bar.

"Then where the hell is it?"

"The RV is missing Daryl. I woke up this morning and it was gone! Stolen overnight! There are only two people I know stupid enough to take it and drive it off into God knows where!"

Dale gave Daryl his customary 'are you kidding me' look before walking to the empty stool beside Theo.

But who would steal his RV, let alone know how to drive it?

The fence that had fallen was where the RV drove through, Daryl knew. So when Daryl returned to the apartment, he stared outside the window. The person that hijacked the vehicle was headed for none other than the Old City. But there was no rational reason to go there. Unless there was a job to be done or something of yours was there.

And then Daryl understood.

"Andrea."

* * *

When Daryl found out, he explained his suspicions to Rick, how Carl and Sophia must have been playing in the RV when Andrea decided to take off. Lori only yelled at him when she found out, screeching that she couldn't lose him again.

Daryl left when she started to chucks random objects at Rick.

* * *

Daryl stayed up all night, hoping to spot a familiar figure climb up the ladder from his window. He didn't. Daryl sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and crashed onto the bed.

The loud rapping of knuckles against wood woke Daryl. After he grabbed his packed bag and bow, he rushed toward the front door. He opened it and his face fell flat when he saw a cop standing there.

Questions about missing persons barraged Daryl and he grumbled denials of seeing all of them. There were women, men, children, and pets that Daryl didn't know and probably had never even seen.

"Maybe a walker got to them," he supplied.

The cop then explained how bodies were found close to the Wall a few days ago and how more and more people are migrating deeper into the Borderlands, deeper into the Zone. There was an arm here, a headless body there, and pieces of flesh rotting or being eaten by animals and people alike. The cans of food only lasted so long when trying to feed hundreds of hungry mouths. Strict rationing only seemed to make those from the Clear more anxious.

Daryl groaned and closed the door in front of the cop's face. "If I hear anythin' I'll let you know."

He put down his belongings and stared out the window once more. The sun was rising and there was no sign of Glenn at all.

* * *

He left the apartment when the darkness was minimal.

The field containing stalls seemed smaller than before. There were less stands and the ones that were there seemed smaller than before. The weapon's stall was nearly empty—Daryl found out that the cops had commandeered most of them in order to protect those from the Clear. There were little to no food stalls, only a few bartering packets of seeds or small roots and mushrooms. The kiosks selling clothes had no customers. The ones that served hunters seemed to have many jobs but little takers. But the only one that didn't seem smaller, the one that Daryl thought grew larger since they moved into the Zone, was of course, none other than Zombie Zone Express.

It grew. The kiosk seemed more like a small bungalow, one that was large enough to house a small family. Daryl wasn't surprised to find a few hunters standing around it with crossed arms, leering at anyone who veered too close. Jack manned the stall with a small smile and warm laughs.

She frowned when she saw Daryl. "Dixon!"

"Jack." Daryl sauntered up to the front of the line, receiving scowls as he went. But Jack decidedly pulled him to the side and whispered to him in soft tones.

"Why didn't you go?" she asked. "These are dangerous times and I need my best runner safe and sound."

"The kid never showed up."

"Glenn left without you. The mission? To the Old City?" Jack looked at Daryl thoughtfully. "He took an amateur sniper with him instead."

"What's he look like?" Daryl hoped the man could at least hold his own. Maybe it was that other hunter who did jobs for Amy. "Did he have a black sniper rifle?"

Jack shook her head at Daryl. "She's not a he."

Daryl couldn't contain the growl that emerged from the back of his throat. "The kid's gonna get himself killed." He paced back and forth trying not to think of the kid's tendencies to put himself after others.

"Okay, calm down, Dixon. You know what? New mission. Bring back Glenn. And his backup too. What do you want? Food and guns? We've got it."

"What's her rifle's make?"

"No idea."

Daryl thought about scenarios of misunderstanding where someone would end up dying. "Then how am I supposed to know the bitch looks like?"

"She's Wenonah's sister. What's her name again? Oh, that's right, it's Annie. Annie Oakley."


	18. The Old City

Daryl prepared his bow and gathered the rest of his supplies. He stood at the gate with Theo, who tried to convince Daryl not to go into the Old City. But when he caught sight of the cop walking down the street, Daryl rushed out and joined him. He left the Domino Block at sunrise with Rick at his side. Rick didn't ask why Daryl was coming but thanked him regardless.

There was still a chance of them being alive. There was a chance of being able to bring them back home. Not because Andrea was fighting to live for her sister, not because of Glenn or his stupid naïve hopes and dreams to have someone to come home to, not because Andrea was some good shot. But because Glenn knew the Old City, knew how to get in and out, knew how to stay alive.

But the fact that Glenn was part of the mafia, that he was in cahoots with the guy from Room 201, still weighed in the back of Daryl's mind. Sure, the kid could have been enlisted by Andrea to find Amy. For some reason Daryl felt that Glenn would let himself be dragged along. But there was no rational reason to take two children with them. Daryl gritted his teeth and clutched his bow tighter.

And so began the mission to bring them back. All of them.

Dead or alive.

* * *

Rick bent over, keeping his hand on a tree for support. Daryl slumped up against another a few feet away. Both men breathed heavily through their mouths, trying to avoid inhaling the walkers' stench. Daryl managed to remember major landmarks he saw when he completed the trek with Glenn but he seemed to have taken a wrong turn.

The housing development they walked into was not the same one he and Glenn went. As soon as they stepped onto the road, Daryl realized this one had walkers. Tons of them. They didn't stand a chance.

Escaping was the only viable option when Rick shot his gun. Before Daryl could warn Rick, the bang echoed loudly and attracted the attention of every walker in the neighbourhood.

It took them a few more hours before they found the right garage.

"How'd you know this was here?" Rick asked, taking a good look at the car.

"Did a run with some kid." Daryl hopped into the driver's seat and looked under the hood, like how Glenn did the first time.

"He any good?" Rick asked while Daryl was tightening a loose wire.

"Yeah. He was." Daryl pressed his lips thin. "Is. He is."

* * *

The Old City was on fire.

Not all of it, but at least three tall buildings in the east end. Rick stared outside the window. Daryl wasn't sure if Rick had something to say or was just speechless.

Eventually, Rick came out with, "This can't be a natural fire. This was man-made."

Daryl just nodded in reply. He drove by the buildings, staying far enough to avoid being seen, but close enough to see the flames. There were a few walkers stumbling out of the blazes with their flesh on fire. Eerie groans filled the streets, not groans of pain, but ones of hunger. Heads turned, following their car in the distance. Daryl drove faster.

Last time, Glenn insisted they park outside the Old City. There were still people living in it, Glenn had claimed. A running car would only put a target on their backs. So Daryl did the same, looking for the place they parked last time. They turned a corner and followed the tracks and Rick's eyes opened wide when they found the RV parked under the bridge.

Much to Daryl's dismay, Rick ran out of the car, yelling his son's name repeatedly. After scouring the inside of the vehicle, there was no sign of either Carl or Sophia. There was no sign of Andrea. Or Glenn.

Sure, Glenn was there on a mission to find out about some new gang, and perhaps Andrea was tagging along mainly to see if Amy was around, but there was no rational reason for dragging two kids along, especially into a place like the Old City.

"They can't have gone far." Rick rubbed his chin. His brows were furrowed and it seemed as if he was deep in thought, wondering why his son was kidnapped. "Probably had to hole up overnight. Would probably need some food. A place to get some sleep. Somewhere safe. Out of reach. Not easy to find."

And then Daryl knew where he'd be able to find the kid and get some answers.

* * *

The dumpster had been moved.

Daryl clenched his fists when he saw that the dumpster was no longer under the metal stairs hanging off the side of the building. And hell, the stairs weren't even hanging down. There were many other ways to get to the destination but this was easiest to remember. He paced back and forth, wondering why the dumpster would be moved and why the stairs weren't hanging. Rick only gave him a confused look, asking why it was necessary to stare at a window that couldn't possibly be reached.

In the end, Daryl gave up. He tried to find an entrance into another building instead. Before, they had stayed indoors, travelling through hallways, up and down stairs, across balconies that were close to one another. There were hallways with red carpets, secret passages behind tall paintings, doors with missing numbers. But the familiar sights weren't easy to find.

They holed up in a building Rick deemed to be the most secure in the area. The first and second floors were too accessible walkers. The third was crowded with furniture and cubicles, which they assumed were obstacles that served to prevent any dead bodies from ambling easily inside.

The fourth was clear and had a few cots laid out in one of the back corners. But something caught Daryl's eye: bloody streaks across the floor and the neatly arranged office equipment sitting neatly on desks. Rick suggested they stay there, claiming it was safe and that it was too dark to go anywhere else. Daryl grunted, knowing the man was right—about it being to late to find somewhere else to stay.

When Rick lied down on the thin fabric, Daryl reached out, grabbed his bow, and stormed toward the first window he could find.

"I'll take first watch."

* * *

The walkers came while Daryl was asleep.

His eyes shot open after Rick's screams permeated his dreams. Immediately, Daryl reached for his crossbow, stretching his arm under the cot. He brought his fingers together and squeezed a bit too tight when he felt the crunch of rotten flesh instead of metal.

He gasped, and rolled off the cot, scurrying backwards on his ass. Daryl wiped his hand furiously on his pants. There was a walker under his cot with a deformed face and hair. Blood gushed and sputtered from a wound on its neck with each and every movement. The flesh around its neck dangled freely, hanging below its broken clavicles. Daryl raised his foot and stomped on the face, hard.

The face squished against his boot. The skin was firm. The bones were still strong. This bite was fresh. Daryl stumbled, trying to stand. His bow was nowhere in sight and Rick wasn't in the cubicle.

Daryl kneeled on the table, getting up high, making it easier for him to scout the area. There were walkers coming from an open doorway across the room. Three. Four. Maybe thirteen. Rick was in another cubicle fighting off a walker with a knife. Daryl crouched low at the cubicle's entrance. He pulled out his knife and slid it on the ground. It was clear.

For now.

Daryl grabbed his bag and he zoomed out of the cubicle with knife in hand. He dashed down the small aisles, using his knife at every corner to scout the paths up ahead. After many turns, he found Rick furiously stabbing the walker in its head.

"Rick. Rick." Daryl stepped closer. "Rick. Grimes!" Rick turned, his face full of fear. "This your first time, isn't it? For one to be up in your face?" Rick only nodded. Daryl reached out, offering his hand. "Let's blow this pop stand."

* * *

Daryl lost his crossbow.

Again.

Glumly, Daryl led Rick through the streets of the Old City. They ambled through small streets, ducking behind cars and looking through tanks. Grouped together were batches of walkers. The rotting corpses filled large streets, ambling together in search of food. Daryl avoided tromping close to the large groups.

They were nearing the side of a department store when Rick pulled Daryl's sleeve. Rick shushed Daryl with a finger against his own lips. Daryl nodded and followed Rick's outstretched finger to the shadows skittering down an alley in pairs. Four figures in total. Four humans. One pair a block in front of the other.

Rick moved swiftly against the building's wall, edging slowly beside the bricks toward the alley. Daryl tried to regulate his breath, make it slow, make it count, make it quiet. Rick placed a hand on his revolver, ready to fire if need be. When they reached the corner, the footsteps stopped. Rick's feet came to an abrupt halt and he motioned for Daryl to take a few steps back. They moved behind an upturned car and hit.

"It's a dead end!" one of them yelled. It was young. A male.

"What do we do?" A female.

"Give up?"

The girl screamed. A gun was shot. The sound of a body falling on the floor was heard. There was sniffling. There were jeers then hushed whispers. The sound of fabric being torn. The sound of flesh becoming one. A young man's screams.

* * *

Daryl camped under the car with Rick until two figures ducked out of the alley and sprinted down the road. Rick led Daryl into the tight corridor. There were two bodies: one male, the other female. She was shot in the head. A young girl with a shaved head. His throat was slit. His shirt was torn open. His pants were yanked to his knees. His hole was bleeding. But the cum was on her face.

"What just happened?" Rick gagged.

"Don't care. Don't wanna know." Daryl looked away, rubbing his eyes.

Rick pulled up the boy's pants and buttoned it up. Daryl threw a flag over their bodies. They stood solemnly before the bodies for a few minutes. Thinking. Rick moved first, rushing out of the alley with haste. Daryl followed suit.

And just as Daryl was about to leave the alley he found something spraypainted on the walls. Rubbing a finger against it, Daryl could tell that it was fresh. The word was red with a black line straight over it.

Vatos.

* * *

Daryl found a building for the night. It was tall, in the middle of an area that appeared to cater to rich from the time before. The glass entrance was broken, but after scouting from other rooftops, Daryl decided that this area was good enough for a quick nap.

The carpet, although slightly bloodied, was clear of any rotting flesh. The smell of death although present in the air, was minimal as they climbed the stairs. When they reached the fourth level, Rick took point. The man claimed his experience handling a gun would be useful in case they met any threatening characters like the ones from earlier that day.

"You're good with your bow," Rick had started. "But you don't have it. I'm a better shot. With a gun."

Although Daryl nodded in agreement, he gritted his teeth.

They passed rooms filled with dead bodies, ones that weren't bit, ones with sunken skin. Closer inspection led the men to believe that the cause was starvation. Another had the bones of a dog. There was another room filled with what looked like people who committed suicide. The lights didn't work in any room and most of them had a toilet filled with shit in the back. The kitchens were empty, full of rancid sauces and rotten food.

The apartment Rick chose was grand. There was a couch, a bedroom, a washroom with a toilet that didn't have shit in it. There was a jar of honey in the pantry. There was a television, that although didn't work provided a sense of comfort, a topic to reminisce about. Rick spoke of his favourite drama, one that involved cops. Daryl ranted about those cheesy infomercials that were played in the middle of the night. They finished a bottle of iodine, using it to wash their hands of blood and walker. Rick wanted to flip a coin for the bed. Daryl stormed out of the bedroom and claimed the couch.

* * *

The leather scrunched with each of Daryl's movements, no matter how slight they were. It was soft, reminiscent of those days when he slept in the truck. Sure, his legs dangled off the armrests, but it was more comfortable than the shit mattress he had back in the Block.

When Rick's rustling became louder, Daryl reached over, grabbed his pants, and pulled it on under the blanket. The cop greeted him with a gloomy voice. Daryl just nodded.

Slinging his bag onto his back, Daryl prepared himself for another day of searching. He still had his knife, a gun he didn't plan on using—guns attracted attention, he remembered someone saying—a canteen half-filled with water, a worn-out transceiver, and the almost empty first aid kit. They left, Rick with a hustle in his gait and Daryl with his hunter's step.

The hours dragged on forever. They had scoured a few blocks of the nearby area, searching for clues of any human activity. There were scenes of brutal murders and rapes, similar to the pair they found yesterday. Screams filled the air at least once every hour and were followed by gunshots. There was more graffiti. Vatos was sprayed everywhere, and many had those same black lines running over it.

Rick and Daryl almost ran into a pair of elderly women. Rick reached out and asked if they needed help but fear fuelled their expressions and one of them raised a hammer at Rick. The cop froze. She struck, aiming for his head, while she flung curses at him. Daryl grabbed his partner's arm and yanked him aside in time, causing the woman to stumble and fall onto the ground. The other woman wailed, crying for her friend. Rick reached out again, but Daryl only shook his head and tugged on Rick's sleeve. Time to go.

Everywhere they turned, there seemed to be people running around and others chasing them. There were no groups left out. People from different races, ages, genders, whatever the fuck you will, were running around, many weaponless, a few armed with guns and knives. There was a group of Spanish-speaking men that drove by in a car.

At one point, a young man and a middle-aged woman hunted them, jeering at them, telling them to just give in, to just give it up. Much to Rick's displeasure, Daryl had to take the lead. Although Rick claimed to have experience at chasing baddies, he didn't have any at being chased himself. The cop kept running into dead-end alleys, running into large streets with no cover, into buildings that led to nowhere.

They were constantly sprinting, ducking here and there, making sharp corners, and planning for an opportunity to strike. Daryl often took looks back to get a look at how far they were from the creeps chasing them, how tired Rick looked behind him. When Daryl saw the man wheezing, he looked in the distance. Tucked away in between a pair of two-story buildings was a small alley up ahead. Daryl lifted his feet higher, ran a little faster, and left Rick behind.

When Daryl reached the alley, he noticed it was long and narrow, with many obstacles like garbage cans and dumpsters. The pair chasing them didn't appear to have guns or weapons with projectiles. Perfect. Daryl turned to get a look. Rick was slowing down and the pair was gaining on him. Daryl ran back and dragged the man to the alley. He pushed Rick ahead, explaining a plot to ambush.

Rick reluctantly nodded. The man reached for his gun and headed deeper into the alley. "I'll get a good shot."

"You better," Daryl said calmly.

So Daryl waited for the pair, his back pressed up against a dumpster. He regulated his breaths, readied his knife, and told himself he had to survive. There were people who relied on him now. People who gave a damn. People who grew on him like warts.

Daryl held his breath when he heard whispers coming from the street. Clasping his knife tightly, Daryl readied himself to strike. Counting in his head, Daryl waited, subtracting the time it took to reach the dumpster and how many steps until he was within distance to impair his pursuers. Stepping with as much force as he could, Daryl moved to shoot himself straight up. And then Rick yelled.

Daryl stopped and flung himself back to the ground, shoving himself against the dumpster once more. His breath was frantic, loud, and would probably direct the hunters to his position. The fact that he heard Rick talking fast from down the alley was slightly relieving but disconcerting at the same time. Daryl cursed silently and his eyes opened wide when he caught a glimpse, from the corner of his eye, the middle-aged woman.

Her smile was that of a crazed murderer, bloodthirsty and ruthless. Her hair was mussed, her face dirty, her lips were caked with dried blood. She cackled softly, raising a makeshift mace at his head. Daryl eyed the baseball bat with nails and slowly raised his knife at her—but his motion to protect himself was stopped. Daryl groaned at the tug of his hair, which forced him to look upward.

Pulling his hair was the young man, crouched on the dumpster, grinning just as evilly as the woman.

"Lookie what we got here."

"He looks pretty," the woman assessed, licking her lips, smearing red with her tongue. "Pretty enough to eat."

"Or eat out," the guy chuckled.

"How about we have some fun with him first?" She laughed, invading Daryl's space with her disgusting stench.

"But you always told me not to play with my food."

"That was before. This is now."

"Okay, Mo—"

A loud bang echoed in the alley. The shot rang in Daryl's ears followed by booms that pounded on his eardrums. Suddenly, he felt the grasp on his hair loosen and he looked up to see a lifeless body with a bullet through its head fall on top of him. There was another shot and the woman slumped down beside him.

Footsteps resonated in the alley, warning Daryl that someone was approaching. His eyes darted back and forth, unable to tell where the person was coming from. Rick had stopped talking a short while ago. Daryl panicked, unsure of what course of action to take. To his right was a brick wall. To his left was a dead woman. Resting on top of him was another body. He pushed the boy off him and looked to where Rick was. In the distance, he found find Rick hanging upside down with his arms dangling underneath him. A rope wrapped around his ankle held him high off the ground.

Daryl grabbed his gun, cocked it, undid the safety, and waited.

He quickly scanned the area and looked at Rick's body, which swung lifelessly. A clatter of a trashcan. Rustling garbage. Somewhere behind Rick, Daryl found a shadow slinking away. Daryl stood, stretching his gun out, and set off to follow it.

But he heard a trigger click ever so slightly.

"Don't move," commanded the voice. Daryl froze, confused at its tone. He felt a gun's barrel pressed against the back of his head. "Raise your hands high. Yeah. Slowly. And drop the gun. No funny business."

Daryl did as he was told, steadily following each instruction. His gun clacked against the floor, his hope sliding away from him. His mind raced with regrets, thoughts of unfinished business, the people who grew to depend on him, the people who on him. Daryl closed his eyes and gulped. He slowed his breaths and waited.

"You killed them," he muttered. "They didn't do anythin' to you."

"They were bit. Turn around." He did, with his arms at his side, ready to slam the shooter's rifle into their head. Daryl spun around and gasped. He knew who was standing behind him. "Dixon?"

"Annie Oakley," he chuckled in nervous relief. "Andrea."

* * *

"You got a death wish? What are you doing here?"

"Could say the same for you," Daryl said, shoving his gun back into his holster. "Came here with the cop."

Andrea moved toward the hanging Rick, who Daryl learned was clear of bullets. "Don't worry. He just lost consciousness a while back." Daryl held Rick's body while Andrea cut the rope. "Isn't he that lady's husband, the one who worked at Amy's stand?"

Daryl nodded, to which Andrea rolled her eyes. "He's lookin' for his kid."

As evidenced by he voice, Andrea's interest was piqued at his comment. "His kid."

"You deaf?"

Andrea shook her head. "You mean our stowaways."

"Your what?" Daryl began. He opened his mouth but the sound of clanging metal cut him off. Daryl's eyes darted to the end of the alley.

It was a door, one that had opened too widely and clanged loudly against the bricks. With an 'Oops!', behind it appeared a head with a silly red hat that Daryl knew all too well.

"Did something happen? I heard all the noise and…"

Daryl's chest expanded with every breath. His heart was beating harder, faster. He faced the kid with a stare of suspicion. Daryl glared at the kid, whose face morphed from one of fear to surprise, before him.

"Glenn."

"Oh." The kid's lips quirked. Not a smile. Not a frown. Confused. "Hi."

* * *

Glenn carried Rick from his legs, Daryl from his arms. Glenn led Daryl through the door and into the back of what appeared to be the remains of a bakery. There was a shelf of baking materials, a wall with at least three ovens against it—Daryl wasn't sure how cakes fit into the small opening—a pair of large mixers close to the hallway. And then it dawned on him: this wasn't a bakery, it was a pizzeria. Andrea settled against one of the convection ovens. Daryl tried to ignore her gaze, which constantly shifted between him and Glenn. They ended up resting Rick in the middle of the room. Every so often, Rick would jerk suddenly or a noise would come out of his mouth.

"So." Andrea smiled at Glenn. "How do you guys know each other?"

"Uh, we uh, did jobs together," the kid replied sheepishly.

"Jobs?"

"Yeah. You know, like the ones Amy gave out." Glenn laughed, fixing his cap. "A few odd runs here and there. Retrieving a pack of condoms every once in a while. You know, the usual."

Andrea's lips pressed thin.

Daryl met her stare and agreed, "What he said."

"Look, I don't give a—"

"Dixon!" The three of them looked down to see Rick blinking. "What happened?" The cop got up on his elbows and scanned the room slowly moving from one end to the other. He nodded at each one of them. "Dixon." Daryl nodded back. "Andrea." Andrea stood silently. And when Rick turned, a look of familiarity filled his face. "Glenn?"

"Hey." The kid smiled back. "Rick."

Daryl's eyes shot toward the kid, who looked like he was trying to make himself small in the corner. Daryl squinted at him, trying to connect the dots, trying to understand how and when he met Rick, how they knew each other. Then Daryl remembered. The kid knew the guy from Room 201, the guy who shot Rick. The kid was part of the fucking mafia. He took a few steps forward and Glenn replied by smiling sheepishly and looking everywhere but at him. He was only a few steps away from cornering the kid when someone stormed into the room, interrupting his interrogation.

"Dad?" Carl's eyes opened wide. "Dad!"

"Carl!" Rick rushed toward his son and wrapped him in a tight embrace, lifting him high off the ground. "Never leave the house again. Always stay in our sight."

"I promise, Dad. I promise."

When Daryl managed to peel his eyes off the sappy reunion, he found Sophia standing at the door, clutching her doll close, watching the two hug with saddened eyes. He went up to her and knelt down. Her eyes welled with water and Daryl consoled her by awkwardly explaining her mother was fine when he last saw her.

After enduring her tears, Daryl was greatly relieved when Andrea ushered the children back down the hallway. Rick shook his hand firmly. Daryl was showered with gratitude from the man, who couldn't stop thanking him for helping find his son. He watched Rick trail behind Andrea down the hall, shouting for Carl to slow down. And when he looked back to the corner, he realized that Glenn was gone.

* * *

Daryl found him on the roof. The kid was leaning against the tall bricks that served to prevent anyone to fall. Behind the kid, the sun was setting, painting the sky will a ridiculous blood-coloured background. The kid was watching it set with his hands clasped together tightly. Daryl let the door behind him close with a click. When it did, Glenn jerked, ears perking at the sudden sound, and turned in his direction.

"Hey," Daryl nodded at the kid.

"Hey," the kid said to the ground before he kicked some dust aside. He strolled toward Daryl with an awkward smile. "I'm glad you're here. I thought you weren't coming. Man, I was kind of let down when you weren't on the roof. And when Andrea wanted to come along, it wasn't so bad. I mean, she can shoot so—"

"I know."

"You… know?" Glenn asked, confused. He stared at Daryl expectantly. "So she filled you in?"

"No. About how you're able to get in and out quick. How you broke into my apartment. How you know the alleys like the back of your hand."

"Um, yeah." Glenn looked around. "I delivered pizzas. I still do. You know, a few hot slices here and there. That cardboard box I'm always carrying?"

"Cut the distraction tactics," he interrupted. "I know." Daryl took a step forward, then another, and another. He moved slowly, each movement determined. "You're part of the mob."

And the deer-in-headlights look on the kid's fallen face said it all.

Silence.

It felt like hours before Glenn responded.

"Yeah." Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes darted away from Daryl with each and every word. "I am. Was."

"So the guy from Room 201?"

"An old underboss."

"He shot Rick."

The kid looked down. "Yeah, I know. I didn't… I didn't have anything to do with it."

"I shot him. That guy you always visited." Daryl stepped forward, daring the kid to look him in the eye. He felt the kid's nervous breath against his own skin. "Killed him."

"I… I heard."

Daryl gritted his teeth, frustrated at the short and unclear answers he was receiving. "Just who are you? Is Glenn your real name? You even Korean?"

The kid was speechless. He looked down at his own hands and stared. The kid's mouth shuttered, as if he was unsure of what to say, or as if he was caught red-handed. He looked away guiltily, unable to meet Daryl's eye.

There was frustration in Daryl's voice. His own breath was heavy, he could tell. His muscles were tense, aching to punch the kid in the face. His shoulders rose and fell with every breath. In the end, his cold harsh stare was what got the kid to talk.

"Daryl," Glenn pleaded once more. "Please, man. You've gotta trust me. I didn't want… I—"

"I thought you fuckin' kidnapped them." Daryl frowned, staring the kid down, the kid who refused to look him in the eye.

"Who? The kids? Sophia and Carl?" Glenn's face morphed into one of shock, disbelief. "Are you kidding? You thought I took them?" he said in disbelief, finally meeting Daryl's eye. "I thought you knew me better than that."

"No." Daryl shook his head and began to walk away. "Turns out I don't know you much at all."


	19. Worth Fighting For

"Wait!"

Daryl felt a hand on his arm. "Don't touch me," he hissed. And Glenn let go, immediately. Daryl heard the kid take a few steps back.

"Daryl, please," Glenn pleaded desperately. "Let me explain."

He spun around and flung his arms sharply, pointing his fingers accusingly at Glenn.  _I'm watching you_. Daryl turned, ready to walk away. He stood angrily, fists twitching, feet shuffling back and forth between the door and the kid. The metal hatch beckoned him but Daryl couldn't. So he stood.

It felt like ages when he heard the kid speak up once more. This time, however, Daryl could sense, could feel, the anger that bubbled underneath his words. Glenn slid in between Daryl and the door, snarling and forcing him away from the door.

"Hey! It's not like I'm the only one who's confused here!" Glenn stepped forward, pressing a finger repeatedly to Daryl's chest with the most defiant look that Daryl's ever seen. "I don't go around creeping some guy from behind closed doors for weeks. I don't follow people into sketchy warehouses and refuse a prostitute's offer just to speak with some guy. I don't glare sexily at guys while holding a freaking pregnancy test in my hands! I don't get my neighbour to clean some guy's hat—a hat that I lost in the middle of nowhere—and I don't get her to wash sexy panties! Whose are those anyways? Because they sure as hell aren't Carol's and they're definitely not mine! I'm getting mixed signals here, Dixon, and I'd really like it if you just cleared it all up!"

Instead of talking back, Daryl stormed down a seemingly long flight of stairs, leaving the kid to stand by his lonesome on the rooftop. He rushed past Rick, who was telling Carl and Sophia stories of how he and Daryl trekked into the Old City just to find them, past Andrea, who sat on a stool dismantling her gun, and into the back room where he punched large bags of flour.

He grabbed one bag and flung it toward a wall. He kicked another on the ground. He stabbed the last bag, tearing it open, letting everything flow out.

* * *

It felt like hours before he finally stopped wrecking the place.

He sat in the back room that night.

Alone.

* * *

Andrea gasped when she saw the state of the back room. Mounds of random piles here and there, torn bags and sacks that were beat in, the patches of white on Daryl's skin; mixers that were upturned; oven doors that were flung open and one that was kicked off its handles; and Daryl, who was slumped against the wall, nursing a bottle of rum.

"Where did you get that?" she asked concerned. Daryl nodded toward the broken glass case, which housed all the alcohol, which was probably used for baking. She held her and out, hoping to receive the bottle. "Dixon, hand it over."

"Leave me be," he bit at her. And then he saw that her face was trying to understand. So he lied. "Almost died out here, almost been eaten by some crazies, tryin' to find two kids. Least you can do is let me drink myself to sleep."

"No. We're setting up a watch. Glenn's up on the roof scouting. You and Rick need to pull your weight."

Daryl took another swig. "Kid's got chops. He can handle himself."

"Why are you even here? Rick can't afford a hunter, not with what you expect to get paid. You don't do jobs for free." He glared at her before staring down into the bottle. The moment she stopped tapping her fingers along her arm was when he knew she had come to a conclusion. "Look, Dixon. I don't give a damn about your low perceived self-worth and pessimistic outlook on life. But I want to live. I want to find my sister. And if you don't plan on pitching in…" Andrea pointed, "There's the door."

Daryl glared at her. Her words were firm and strong. A serious frown was plastered across her face, the kind of frown that meant she was willing to back up her words. He looked at the rifle that hung across her back and the way her fingers twitched closely to the trigger, as if she would point it at him and force him out if he didn't agree to her terms. Daryl raised the bottle of rum and met her eye when he downed the rest of it slowly. When he finished, he lowered his hand and let go of the bottle's neck, staggered onto his feet, and walked past her.

"What are you waitin' for? Let's get this shit done."

He snorted internally.

Sure, she got two of them. But there was a third thing on his mind. No. It wasn't his mind. It was that brokenness, that familiar knock that pounded in his chest.

* * *

The schedule revolved around tiredness and level of expertise. Not surprisingly, the kid was the one who formulated the plan. Andrea was just the messenger. Glenn was to take the first shift, followed by Andrea, Daryl, and then Rick. The cycle was to revolve based on a makeshift egg timer the kid fashioned out of a pair of glass jars, two plastic funnels, an obscene amount of plastic wrap, and a shit ton of salt and tape. Tiredness was also to be a factor.

They were sitting in a room on the second floor. Rick and Andrea were within a foot of each other. Daryl's chair was a bit further from theirs.

"We wouldn't be outside or keeping watch from the roof, but as you saw earlier." Andrea gestured toward the streets. "People here aren't so friendly."

"What's wrong with them?" Rick gave a concerned look, leaning in, listening intently.

"Nothing. As far as I can tell they're normal. Not bitten or anything."

"Normal? Then why are they doing this?"

"Glenn said the Old City changed. People began terrorizing people, kidnapping them for the sole purpose of having something to hunt, something to eat, something to keep living for… Amy," Andrea snivelled softly. Daryl clenched his jaw and looked away. "I think that's why she was here. She was kidnapped. For someone's dinner. For someone's entertainment."

"How do you know?"

"Dixon found this necklace on a run. It's hers." Andrea clenched it in her palm. "I just know it."

"That why you're here? To rescue her?"

Andrea scoffed. "Why else? The Old City is a kill zone. No one from the Clear would come here. No one in their right mind."

"And you dragged Glenn and the kids out here for that?"

"Glenn was on his way to complete a job. Scout the Old City for a gang or something. Since he was going, I asked to come with. Eventually he said yes. We left at night, took the RV. That way Dale couldn't tell us not to go. He's been telling me for days to get over it."

Daryl nodded, watching Andrea's face, taking a few glances at Rick every so often. "Should've listened to the old man."

Andrea shot him a dirty look. "So when we reached the Burbs, we heard something in the back. Something rustling. Something groaning, as if it was in pain. I didn't think anything of it, but Glenn thought it was a walker! He wanted me to check it out while he drove, but I denied anything was there."

"Why didn't you?" Rick asked. "Could've saved you a lot of trouble."

"Dale keeps the thing locked up tight. Didn't think anyone could've broken in. They probably got in through a window or something. Maybe the roof exit," Andrea explained, and Rick only nodded. "By the time we reached the Old City, the sounds started up again. I grabbed my knife and made my way to the washroom. I opened it up and saw the kids hiding there. Carl said they were playing in the RV when Glenn hotwired it, so they hid in the back. It was nightfall. There were walkers behind us. Too late to turn around."

* * *

Rick wanted to leave with the kids, but neither Andrea nor Glenn were willing to go with him. Andrea was set on retrieving Amy. Glenn still had a job to do. When Rick turned to Daryl, he wasn't expecting to be turned down. And Daryl didn't expect to refuse.

"I'm not here for your son." Daryl explained begrudgingly, "I'm here to help the kid with a job. Reconnaissance."

"What if I go by myself? Take the kids with me?"

"In the Old City? With all those walkers and crazies?" Glenn sighed. "Sure, you'll leave. Pick one: as a ghost or as an undead corpse."

"Just a few days, Rick." Andrea begged. "That's all I ask."

So in the end, Rick was forced to stay.

The routine, although severely tedious, settled in quickly.

Andrea had wanted to be the one searching the streets for Amy but after much deliberation, she was designated sniper-slash-babysitter. Not only did she have the best eyes, Glenn had mentioned, but her headshot count only rose with each walker she shot. And of course, since they couldn't leave the kids alone, someone had to stay back regardless.

Glenn, the self-proclaimed go-to guy, was the one stalking the streets, searching for clues of Amy's presence. The kid used the early morning hours to scope the City, searching for food, useful items, and signs of Amy. He'd return with something small or nothing at all. Once, he found a belt, one that Andrea deemed a belonging of Amy's. Glenn came and went many times before nightfall. On most of his trips he came back a few packages of food to share. He found a few bags of chips, a granola bar, a few cans of soup. Sometimes he'd bring back a candy bar for the Carl and Sophia if he was lucky. Another time he found a can of fizzy goodness. Whenever they would eat, the kid would claim to be full, and push the leftover food toward Sophia.

Sometimes Glenn asked if someone wanted to go with him during the day. Most often, he took Rick. The cop didn't argue, but for some reason, he kept asking if the kid wanted to take Daryl instead. Probably so he could keep a close eye on Carl. Daryl always stood against a wall, with his arms crossed, chin up, hands down his pockets, and looked aloof. The kid always shook his head wearily and suggested he'd go out on his own. Daryl would wait, watching Rick to see what he would do. And when the kid was halfway out the door, the cop would be the first to cave in and say he'd go with him. Daryl wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Sometimes the kid took Andrea with him. They often returned short of breath, ragged, tired, and sweaty, with a look on their face that they found something that no one needed to know of. Once, they found a message written in a style that looked like Amy's. They didn't share it with either Daryl or Rick.

And although Carl asked nicely to go with him, Glenn refused. The kid would stand in the room, looking at his options: Andrea, who had a day watch; Rick, who wanted to stay with his son; and Daryl. Those were the times the kid would go out on his own.

Glenn always left before the rest even woke up, just as the sun rose. Sometimes Daryl would camp out in the back room, waiting for the kid to pass by. Sometimes Daryl would fall asleep and the kid would tiptoe out the door. Sometimes the kid just disappeared without having to sneak past him.

Carl and Sophia stayed on the second floor of the building. Always.

During the days, Andrea waited in her usual hiding spot on the roof, high yet shaded from the sun, rifle ready to fire at any unwelcome visitors. She often partnered with Rick—whenever he was not with the kid—who did the same but from the streets. Andrea and Rick constantly motioned to each other, and she would either give him the go ahead or flailed whenever suspicious characters veered too close to his position. Daryl would watch them from the windows, waiting for an attack, waiting for the kid to return.

The debriefing meetings were awkward. Daryl's stare would be fixed on the kid, who always shuffled his feet nervously underneath the chair. Afterward, Rick would pull Daryl aside and the kid would rush off, with Andrea not far behind him.

Rainy days were the worst.

Whenever they were alone together, the kid would act like Daryl didn't exist.

And when they'd sit down to eat as a group, they'd speak hesitantly—not to each other, unless they wanted the salt passed down—but the conversation often died down a few lines in, and Glenn would often avoid Daryl's gaze, choosing to stare at his plate instead.

When Sophia asked him what was wrong, Glenn said, "Nothing."

But whenever Daryl would pass the kid in the hall, they would act like the other person didn't exist. And after the kid was behind him, Daryl would resist the urge to look back and fail. He'd quickly turn his head, to see the kid stomp away with fists clenched closely to his sides. Daryl would find an empty room as quickly as possible, close the door and brace himself against it, and try to return to his state of Zen. However, when he slipped his hands in between his legs, the only thing he could think of was the owner of the silly red hat.

* * *

Sometimes Andrea found Daryl alone.

"What's the deal?" she asked, and Daryl would only move his pupils in her direction. "With you and Glenn?"

He remained silent and she'd just stand there, arms crossed, awaiting an explanation that Daryl thought he wouldn't give.

"Kid's not all he's put out to be."

"Is anyone these days?" Andrea reproached. "To everyone else, we were Annie and Wenonah, two looking for a way to make a living. Dale was the Eye, the all-knowing. We had to pretend we lived here all our lives or we'd be tossed out of the Clear. Found permits on a walker." She shot him a look. "You know how they treat Zoners. How do you think they would have treated us? A girl who went to school in the Old City? A woman who was from Florida? A man from another part of the country?" She rubbed her brow and sighed heavily. "I had to learn how to shoot a gun. Amy learned about people, who they were and what they did. Dale learned how Area S worked, where to get information, who to watch out for. We had to do what we had to do to survive."

Daryl grumbled. "Ain't the same."

Her voice grew more confident with each passing sentence. "We have our secrets. The world we knew is gone. It's as if everything was put on hold. It doesn't matter what we did back then. What matters is what we do now. A world like this, Dixon. It's a chance for a fresh start. I finally have a chance to spend with my sister. And I'm not letting that go." Andrea scoffed. "Man up, Dixon. I can't be the only one around here pulling my weight."

* * *

Somehow, Carl had gotten out of the building. And he had taken Sophia with him. Andrea couldn't find them. She found Dixon and informed him of the their escape. They searched the nearby streets, Dixon on the ground, Andrea from the roof. But it was neither of them who found the kids. It was Glenn.

Rick was furious and spouted off, lecturing his son about the dangers of the Old City.

Carl responded with how Glenn saved them from three walkers, an amazing feat, especially since the only thing the kid had on him was his machete.

* * *

Sometimes Daryl would walk up the stairs on his way to the roof and he would overhear Glenn telling stories to Sophia and Carl. Sometimes Daryl would rest his back against the wall and listen in.

This night, the kid was in the middle of some fairy tale, some fantasy that didn't ring any bells. There were three children, siblings, a boy and two girls, going—no, searching in the woods, for some place to have fun, only to be distracted by their games and get lost, break a bunch of things and ruin an underground transaction or something. Their father and mother found them and brought them home. But soon after the children were returned, their father was captured and held responsible for the damage. The pay wasn't cheap. It cost an arm and a leg. It cost a little boy's life.

The moral of the story? Stay indoors.

"I miss my mom," Sophia sobbed.

It sounded like forever until Carl spoke up. "Me too," the boy admitted.

And then came the kid's trembling voice: "Me three."

Sophia began to cry and Daryl could hear Carl sob lightly. Or maybe that was Glenn. He didn't know. Daryl smacked his own head lightly against the wall, pressed his lips thin, and walked away.

* * *

Sometimes after a run, Daryl would catch the kid retching in a small room, vomiting his what little food he ate out. Sometimes Daryl would dampen a cloth with his personal supply of depleting water and bring it to the door. He would raise his fist, but would walk away before knocking.

* * *

Once, the kid found a bottle of whiskey. That was the time when Daryl was scouting further down the road. The kid was a block away, panting heavily and gesturing wildly toward their base. Behind him was a trio of masked figures. Daryl turned and ran, pounding his feet heavily on the pavement. When he was almost there he realized that he was alone. Daryl turned and found Glenn hunched over with a laboured breath with the three crazies gaining. Daryl closed his eyes, turned around. He wrapped his fingers around the kid's wrist and the kid immediately looked up at him, baffled. Daryl gave a sharp tug and dragged the kid along. Somewhere along the way, Glenn fingers intertwined with his.

Glenn slammed the door behind him, sliding down against it until his ass was on the ground. Daryl sat a few feet to his side. Daryl felt a weird warmth resonating from his hand, unfamiliar, uncomfortable, but not bad at all. He turned, to look at the kid beside him, and the kid grinned like they shared a secret no one else knew. But the smile left as quickly as it came. The kid got up and stumbled out of the back room without a word, wiping his hands on his jeans like he just touched walker flesh.

Daryl drank on the other side of the room that evening, with intent on staring the kid across the room until he left. Sometimes the kid would look his way. Sometimes they would meet each other's gaze, the kid with a look of sadness that Daryl could only handle for so long before he had to stare at something else. By the end of the night, Daryl could tell you how many rings that large wooden table had on its surface.

* * *

"Hey, Dixon!" Carl beamed, taking the opportunity that was presented before him. It was a rare morning when Rick and Andrea convinced the kid to sleep in and get some rest. Instead of Glenn going, they went out instead and scavenged in a nearby building. "You owe me a story about the Zone!"

Sophia was looking at him awkwardly from the other end of the table. She gave him a sad look before turning back to Glenn, who encouraged her to finish her food. And when she was done, Glenn brought a finger to his face. She mimicked him, laughing when she realized she had sauce on her cheek.

Daryl turned to the boy, who was waiting with anticipation, blabbering about expecting an exciting story about slaying the dead and finding true love. Daryl pressed his lips thin, his brow creased. He had no idea what to say.

"Glenn said they went on a run together," Sophia uttered from down the table.

"Yeah!" Carl waved his arms. "Tell us about your adventures together!"

"I—" Daryl began, but the sound of a chair scratching the ground caught his attention. Glenn stood abruptly and ran out of the room. Sophia laughed, chasing after him.

"When he came to the Helm, he'd tell me stories! Glenn said you were an awesome partner!" Carl jumped onto his chair and pretended to load and shoot a crossbow. He spun around, shooting invisible walkers that seemed to come from every direction. "Whoosh!" After a few moments, he stopped, saw Daryl's face, and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," he snipped.

"It's obviously not nothing." Carl murmured curiously. "Sophia said you guys were acting kind of weird."

"Save it, kid." Daryl stood, striding toward the door.

"Just say sorry." Carl smiled innocently. "It works! I do that when my parents are mad at me. You know, kiss and make up."

* * *

Sometimes Daryl would catch the kid slamming a hand against a wall, sniffling quietly with a fist pressed tightly over his mouth.

Sometimes, Daryl would be the one that was caught.

* * *

But it seemed like the kid was always finding an excuse to avoid him, taking on the responsibility of surveying the area, leaving before Daryl could talk to him, staying away from the roof whenever Daryl was on watch.

Sometimes, the kid wouldn't return until it was dark. Sometimes he didn't show up until morning. Once he didn't show up until the day after. Daryl would forget to watch the egg timer and call Rick to take over the watch. Those were the nights that he'd leave it on its side until he began to grow tired, and then, and only then would he let the salt run its course.

* * *

It was on the fourth night there when he heard a can kicking in the alley. It was another dark night alone on watch, and Daryl was fed up. He shuffled toward the edge of the roof and slowly down. Inside was a shady figure, one that was looking directly at him. Daryl felt something smack against his forehead. He turned, following the pebble bounce across the roof.

"Rick!" the voice hissed. "Rick! Open the door!"

Daryl made his way down the stairs to the metal door, breathing deeply before he heard that familiar knock. He opened the door and the kid rushed inside.

"Rick, you won't believe what I found!" Glenn spoke excitedly, swinging his knapsack off his back. He crouched over the pack and began unzipping it. "I got a few things that the kids would like… Oh. Daryl." Glenn rubbed his forehead. "Look, I need to go—"

The kid tried to go past him, but Daryl was quick. He shot his arm out, slamming it against the wall, stopping Glenn in his tracks. He gritted his teeth, tired of this game that neither of them agreed to play.

"The fuck you doin' out there at this hour?"

"Scouting. Looking for food. The mission. Scoping out that new gang. Tracking the movements of the crazies—"

Daryl cut him off. "What did you do?"

"What?"

"You fuck him?" Daryl felt his nails dig into his palm.

"Who?"

"You know who!" Daryl slammed his fist against the wall. Glenn gave him a confused look. "That guy from Room 201!"

"No!" Glenn shook his head in disbelief. And when something indiscernible flashed across the kid's face, he made himself small and rubbed his arms absently. "I just gave him food. Okay! Okay! And drugs. And other things."

"You kill anyone?" He took a step forward. "Stab anyone in the back? Slit someone's throat? Beat little kids 'cause their parents couldn't pay up? Come on, Mafia Man. Spill."

"N-no. No! I just…" The kid stammered. His lips quivered.

"Spit it out." Daryl took another.

"I ran their numbers," Glenn blurted.

"And?" Then another step, and another, like he always did when cornering prey.

"I delivered packages."

When he was in front of Glenn he raised a brow. "That all?"

"I also stole cars?"

"Why'd you do it?"

"I—" the kid began, but as soon as he did, the ground attracted his attention. Glenn shook his head then tried to speak with the steadiest voice he could. "I have my reasons."

But Daryl knew that the kid was hiding something, something sad, something dark, something that haunted him, something Daryl felt didn't need to be shared. And with that, Daryl lifted his arm, cocked his head toward the side, and let Glenn pass.

When the kid was behind him, Daryl spoke, fists clenched tight. "Jack said you wanted me again. Why? Why me?"

He heard Glenn ruffling his shirt. The kid spoke softly but proud. "You stood up against him. Protected Sophia from your brother. No. Stop shaking your head. Don't try to deny it. She told me. Carol told me. They told me everything. How you help them. When you don't have to. So I thought to myself, there must be a reason. Then I realized you changed." Glenn took in a deep breath and continued, "No, you didn't change. You were always like that. Just took a while for you to see it for yourself."

Glenn's voice began to tremble, wavering more and more with each passing word. "So I asked Jack for you. And if you came, if you're here, then maybe I'm right, and there's a chance. Maybe I wasn't wrong after all. I thought—I think you'd make a good," Glenn paused. Daryl heard the kid's wet tongue glide in between his lips, hear the air move in and out of his chest, like he was unsure of what he was about to say. "Partner."

When he heard the last word, Daryl spun around. "What?"

Glenn smiled sheepishly. He was scratching behind his ear. His grin was slowly fading, his voice filling with uncertainty. "You know. For runs and stuff."

Daryl closed his jaw tight and looked at his shoes. When he was at the stairwell's door, he stopped. "Next time," Daryl warned, raising his unsteady voice slowly, as if a great weight was being lifted off his chest. "Get your ass back here before sundown. Or else."

* * *

The next morning, Glenn was the one who cornered Daryl—not with physical presence, but with words. Daryl walked into a room and found the kid. He crossed his arms and found a comfortable spot against the wall. He watched the kid prepare for another outing, obviously choosing Andrea to partner with for this morning's trip.

"Are you worried?" the kid asked, rummaging through his green knapsack. "About me?" Daryl held a breath. Across the room, Andrea jerked in her chair. Although her hat covered her face and she was in a very relaxed position, Daryl knew she wasn't sleeping.

"The only reason I'm here is to watch your pretty little ass, okay?" Daryl sneered before he stormed away. He stopped at the doorway. "And I get paid to do it too. Bigger reward if I bring you back alive. Get that through your thick little skull."

And then Daryl left the room and clutched at the fabric at his chest, trying to calm his racing heart down.

* * *

Glenn began to stare at Daryl without malice, but with a confused, curious look, like Glenn was trying to understand. When Daryl would catch his gaze, Glenn's body would perk up and he would look away before mumbling something incoherent.

This happened during meetings, when they ate together or took inventory, during long tales of bedtime stories.

Eventually, when their eyes met, Daryl would look away just as fast. And sometimes, when he mustered up the courage to glance at Glenn again, this time, from the corner of his eye, Daryl could swear the kid was smiling.


	20. This Little Sacrifice

Glenn returned that night before sunset.

But instead of returning with anything tangible, he brought with him bad news.

"So we can't stay," Daryl mumbled. "So much for a home base."

"We need to move. There's no food nearby and every time I go out, there's more and more crazies. They're coming closer. Moving our way." Glenn pulled out his marker, drawing blocks and lines, and circles and squares across the floor. "I've checked this area here, here, and here. This is the area where Dixon and I found Amy's necklace. That is where we found her belt and note. Just a few blocks away. But the way there totally scattered with crazies."

"Any idea where to go?" Rick looked to Glenn.

Glenn looked at the lines he drew and crossed squares off left and right. He mumbled about some good safehouses he knew of, but they were either too far or too dangerous to bring the Carl and Sophia to. The kid seemed hesitant, but Daryl knew, in the end, there was one place that Daryl knew Glenn would choose.

"That fancy place," Daryl suggested. Glenn suddenly froze, eyes glossing over, and the room fell silent. Eventually, the kid shot a look at him, one that said, No way in hell. And then, Daryl understood. The guy from Room 201. "That's his."

Glenn didn't nod, to avoid piquing the curiosity of Andrea and Rick, but Daryl knew.

"Who's place?" Andrea asked regardless.

"I—" Glenn turned to face Daryl, looking at him expectantly, waiting to see what he would do.

But instead of talking, Daryl abruptly looked away, crossed his arms, bit his lips, grumbled, and said nothing. And when his skin started to tingle, he looked up and saw the others looking his way. "What you lookin' at?"

Daryl was counting the blemishes on the wall when he heard Glenn continue, this time with a bit more confidence, "Just some guy I used to know."

"Good defences?"

"Yeah," Glenn leaned over and pointed at a building about twenty blocks away. "It's far, but it's pretty safe. Closer to the RV than where we are now. Hard to get to, but hard for others to find. There's a bed. Food, plenty of it."

"And booze," Daryl added.

Glenn rolled his eyes.

Andrea shared a look with Rick, who nodded thoughtfully. "Let's hear it."

Rick gave a small smile. "What's the plan?"

Glenn gestured for them to move in closer, pointing at different squares, explaining what buildings they were, which ones would be good to use as cover, which ones were to be avoided completely. Andrea pointed out that it would be faster to take a straight line but Glenn vehemently disputed the suggestion. The kid explained how different alleys connected together, spending more time on escape plans, rather than how to get to the destination.

"If we get separated. We meet here." Glenn glanced at the rest of them. When nothing was said, he continued, pointing at different spots on the map, spreading his hands across it, painting his plan with words and gestures. "We take all keep watch from different sections. Andrea will be our eyes. On this roof. When we reach the checkpoint, Rick will climb up here with the kids, and Andrea will move here. When she reaches me, Rick will go back down and she'll go back up. We'll travel on the streets. I'll go ahead, to make sure everything's clear. Dixon will follow up behind me. Rick, you watch the kids. Stay a few blocks behind but always in Andrea's sight. We leave at dawn. Any questions?"

Rick angled his head toward Glenn, intrigued. "What did you do before all this again?"

And Glenn answered, "I used to work here. Delivered pizzas. It's what I do best."

* * *

The plan was in motion. Daryl had been the first one to vote for it. The night before was full of disorganized packing. Glenn was scavenging the cupboards, looking for anything no matter how miniscule its use was. Andrea stood up on the roof, on watch, on scouting duty. Rick prepared the kids, explaining the plan to them, demanding that Carl stay close, and that Sophia not fall behind. Daryl was in charge of stocking supplies and sharpening weapons. Glenn relieved Andrea a few hours before sunrise. Daryl relieved him, nodding curtly as the kid passed by. They left at dawn.

To Daryl's dismay, the route Glenn planned did not even veer close to where Daryl lost his bow. When Glenn asked, Daryl only shook his head in response.

The men pulled out their blades: Glenn with his hooked machete, Daryl and his hunting knife, Rick with a spare Daryl brought. Andrea cocked her rifle and joined them. They walked together, surrounding the children in a wide circle, staring into the distance for any movement, any creature, any human.

Glenn was walking ahead, facing in the direction they were headed. Rick to Glenn's left, kept one hand close to his gun, looking away from the streets every so often. Daryl stood to Glenn's right, knife ready to strike. Andrea was in between Rick and Daryl, aiming the gun in the direction from whence they came. Carl walked in the middle, squeezing Sophia's hand tight, whispering reassurances, promising her that everything will be all right.

They passed all kinds of streets, streets filled with bones and half-eaten, half rotten flesh; streets with blood painted on asphalt, windows, and walls; streets filled with grid-locked cars where they were forced to regroup and reroute; streets with tanks that impressed Carl; streets with graffiti; and streets that seemed too clean. They avoided the latter.

But wherever they went, the stench of death surrounded them. Whether it was from walkers or humans, Daryl didn't know. He didn't care. He didn't want to find out. The putrid atmosphere seemed to hover over the city, like an unseen smog infiltrating their nostrils, infiltrating their lungs. Many times on the trek, Daryl had to bite in order not to gag.

When they reached a building, Glenn instructed Rick and Daryl to wait on the main floor. The kids were to stay nearby, around a corner, hidden from sight, in between the two men. Daryl watched as Glenn went through the stairwell doors, Andrea following behind, closing the door behind them quietly.

"Is he really a pizza boy?" Rick whispered.

Daryl nodded stiffly. "Where do you think we were the past few days?"

Slumped against a wall, Carl was murmuring to Sophia, moving his hands slowly, but deliberately, trying to comfort her, telling her what she wanted to hear even though it was not true.

"Makes sense." Rick's lips pressed thin.

After a while, Daryl asked. "How'd you meet him?"

Rick sighed, shaking his head. "He sav—"

And the stairwell door opened. "We're good," Glenn interrupted, out of breath. "Streets are clear. No packs of geeks nearby. No crazies so far. Andrea's up top with her rifle. Let's go."

* * *

Although he had his hunting knife, Daryl knew that having his bow would make everything so much easier. Sure, Glenn had a machete too, but the further they moved, the less comfortable he became with Andrea's aim—not that he really trusted in her ability at all.

"She's good," Glenn vouched. "Trust me."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "One of these days she's gonna shoot me in the head."

He followed a few feet behind Glenn, who insisted that Daryl was too close. Glenn had warned that there was the occasional walker and that he could handle that himself.

"I just need you to watch my back."

"Why me?" Daryl asked. "Why not Grimes?"

Glenn looked like he was about to say something else, but blurted, "He wants to watch the kids. Isn't it obvious?" He sighed. "I need someone who can watch my back. Dude, you know how I work. In and out. Quick and easy. Little to no guts as possible." The kid stopped moving and turned his head. "Stop distracting me."

Daryl chuckled and nudged him with his foot. Glenn scoffed and continued to move.

A block later, Daryl asked, "You think we goin' to find her?"

Glenn stopped moving and Daryl saw something dark flash across his face. "I don't know. If she was brought here for… It would be great if we did. But I'm not sure if I want to."

* * *

Glenn told Daryl that he needed to make a quick pit stop. Daryl rolled his eyes and nodded for the kid to head into a building that seemed clear of walkers. There was a large glass window, allowing Daryl access into the main room. Glenn shook his head furiously and opted to go in a tech store a few buildings down. Daryl scratched his head and stood guard outside the building, contemplating what the hell the kid was using to wipe himself clean.

After Glenn finished, he opened the door and hefted his knapsack further up his back. He gave Daryl a goofy grin and walked. Although Glenn had pulled the bag up, it fell back down, lower than before, covering his upper glutes. There was a clinking sound in Daryl's ear each time the kid came to an abrupt stop.

When they reached the next checkpoint, they waited for Rick and the kids to catch up, so all five of them could go up the stairs. Rick led the group, with Glenn just behind him, directing which way to go. Daryl watched the rear and made sure the kids kept with the pace, telling them to stick to Glenn as close as possible.

There were two walkers on the third floor. Daryl slunk silently toward one and stabbed it in the back of its neck. He shoved the blade in deep, aiming upward into the brain, and jiggled it before yanking it out. Rick went to another and tried to do the same to a walker in a suit. But the walker caught on, turning around quickly in an attempt to bite Rick.

Daryl spun around immediately when he heard the lack of sniffling children. They weren't there. Neither was Glenn. Another quick glance at Rick, who seemed to be holding the walker off fine, and he was off, jogging here and there to take quick looks down different hallways. And then he heard the screams.

He broke out into a sprint. Holding his blade close, Daryl rushed toward the end of the hall, where Sophia's loud screams could be heard. He checked each door, taking quick peeks before realizing she wasn't in any of the rooms. It couldn't be. He checked every room but Sophia's voice rang louder and louder with each passing second. He ran back to see if he missed anything. And in the first room he passed, he found a decapitated walker—one that wasn't there before.

He propelled himself forward, leaping over the rotting corpse. He jumped past the upturned tables and the broken chairs, and sped to the back door to come with a walker that stumbled toward him.

Daryl gasped and immediately took a step to the side. The walker groaned with each step backwards, as if it was being forced. And then Daryl saw a foot thumping against the creature's chest, pushing it backward, out of the door and back into the room. Dirty red kicks. With one large push, Glenn kicked the being onto the ground. It thudded heavily on the ground, staggering from the recoil. And then Daryl watched as Glenn bore his teeth and slammed his hooked machete deep into the walker's skull.

Glenn was breathing hard, kneeling on the ground, shoulders slumped, head leaning to the side, with arms that looked like they were too heavy to lift. His mouth was moving, trying to say something.

Daryl heard the faintest whisper: "Inside."

And Daryl moved away from the kid and was horrified. He was frozen in place, taking in the sight. There were bodies everywhere. Dead humans, motionless walkers, and in the middle of the room, standing on a long table, Carl and Sophia, the former holding a bat, the latter a club, both covered in blood and guts.

A large clanging echoed loudly in the boardroom. Daryl looked up to Sophia rushing toward him. She stopped before him, looked down at her feet, and cried. Daryl stood there, hand wavering at his side, unsure whether to pat her on the shoulder or not. He clenched his fist and looked away, disgusted at himself for being unable to comfort the girl.

But it was Carl, young Carl who walked beside her, grabbed her hand, and walked with her out of the room.

* * *

"This wasn't a good idea," Rick shook his head. "Don't know what he was thinking."

A sound unexpectedly came from the back of Daryl's throat. "He saved them. He killed five walkers, five, to protect them. Your kid even said so. Not his fault your son ran away at first sight of the walking dead and took the girl with him."

"They should've waited outside."

"What? And be sittin' ducks? Why not put out a sign that says 'Free Happy Meal! Comes with your choice of a boy or girl'?" Daryl spat.

He stomped away, toward the window, where he watched Glenn zigzag through the streets, making his way to where Andrea waited at the previous checkpoint.

"Do you think he could get us out?" were Rick's words, but Daryl knew the cop was asking something else. Do you trust him?

Daryl bit his lip, eyes widening after the words came out of his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

* * *

The rest of the trip, although filled with more decaying guts, went relatively smoothly. There was one checkpoint left before they reached that regal apartment. Glenn moved slowly, ducking under cover every few seconds, keeping an eye on what was in front of them. Daryl trailed a few feet behind, checking their backs every so often. Small talk was hard to come by. But sometimes, that warm fond look on the kid's face told him enough. Rick and the kids were hiding behind a bus a block away.

Glenn gestured that he was going to move down an alley and Daryl was to follow shortly. So Daryl stood, tapping his foot, eyes scanning the roads and the buildings. There was a walker three blocks to the east and down another road was a pile of overturned cars. When he saw a waving hand, Daryl shuffled toward the passageway.

Something was wrong. The look on the kid's face could only be described as frantic, a mixture of fear and unease.

"The matter with you?" Daryl wondered. Glenn spouted a garbled sentence. Daryl gave him a look. "Slowly."

"There's another sniper." Glenn sounded short of breath. "At the other end of the alley. Past the road. Shot two people in the head. People, Daryl!"

"See where he came from?"

"No," Glenn's head turned toward the sky. "I looked and there was no one."

Daryl jerked his head back the way they came. "Best get a move on."

Glenn nodded nervously and walked by him. They edged toward the end of the alley, with Glenn peeking past the corner. Daryl was a few feet behind him when he saw Glenn shiver from his shoulders down.

Suddenly Glenn flew forward, around the corner. The silly red hat flew off and landed just by Daryl's foot.

Daryl sighed. "Hey, kid. You all right?"

But there was no response. Daryl asked again and got nothing. Daryl raised his knife, silently stepping toward the road while keeping his back close to the wall. When he reached the corner, he turned and saw the kid being dragged off into a car, with his mouth clamped by a hand and arms around his waist.

Daryl ran.

He lunged forward, reaching out to the kid, who moved further and further away from him. The man shutting Glenn up yelled and brought his hand toward his face, squeezing his fingers tight. Glenn wriggled, trying to break free, but it was no use. The large man's grip around his waist was too strong.

"Daryl!" Glenn screamed, flailing in the man's arms frantically, trying to break free. "Daryl!"

Daryl rushed toward the kid, with his knife raised high in the air. He growled, realizing that with the kid moving around like that, his blade would likely strike him. By the car, there was another guy, a guy with a gun aimed straight at Daryl, someone who looked familiar, someone he'd seen before. It was the guy he did the first run with, the guy who told him to steal guns from Rick's wife, the brown-haired boy with the tattoo on his neck, Miguel.

Daryl's eyes darted to Glenn, who begged, pleaded, for help, to be saved, then to the Miguel with the gun aimed at Glenn's head, and then to the road where a pack of crazies were headed their way. Daryl stepped forward, reaching for the kid, but when he did, Miguel pressed the barrel harshly into the side of Glenn's head.

So Daryl did what he thought was the only thing he could do. He lowered his blade, took a few steps back, and watched a desperate, destroyed Glenn be shoved into the back seat of a car and be taken away. Daryl couldn't bring himself to watch as the car sped off, with Glenn feebly slamming the back window with his fists.


	21. For My Heart

Daryl stalked in the alley, pacing back and forth, fists clenched. The crazies, instead of picking off Daryl, chose to chase the car instead. Rick came running, with the kids in hand, yelling that he heard a car burning rubber. Flinging his arm outward, Daryl pointed the red hat in the direction they took the kid.

"That little bastard and his little bastard homie friends! Them sons of bitches took Glenn!"

"Who?"

"That little fucker!" Daryl growled, stomping around in a small circle. "I'm goin' after them. Give me the radio."

Rick hesitantly placed the transceiver in Daryl's hands. "We need to regroup. Find a place to leave the kids."

But Daryl didn't listen. He raised the walkie talkie high and demanded Andrea's attention. "Silver car drivin' east. Took Glenn. Follow it."

The walkie buzzed. "I'm on it."

* * *

In the end, Andrea lost track of the speeding vehicle. Her vantage point, although good for looking around the nearby area, was nothing but inconvenient in tracking down the car. She lost track of Glenn five blocks away.

"It's not my fault! There were tall buildings in the way! There was nothing I could do!" she yelled, trying to get him to understand. But there was no reasoning with an angry Dixon.

Daryl, remembering Glenn's detailed plan, brought them to that fancy place, the apartment where that guy from Room 201 lived, the underboss. There was no time to waste. As soon as they arrived, he dragged Andrea around, giving her the quick and dirty tour of the apartment, pointing out the fireplace, the bed, and the fact that there were no windows. He grabbed a few cans from the pantry, shoved them into his bag, and headed out the door.

"I'll be back by sundown," he shouted, he lied.

Daryl was halfway down the stairs when he heard something echo repeatedly. Footsteps. Someone was here. His hunting instincts kicked in. Daryl shuffled quietly and threw himself against the wall, hiding his position from anyone either above or below him. He drew his knife and held it, ready to stab.

But the voice was familiar.

"Daryl?" Rick called, as he went down the stairs.

"What are you doin' here?" Daryl questioned, arching his neck to catch a glimpse of the cop walk down the stairs. He sheathed his weapon and continued to walk down the stairs. "I'm better off on my own."

"Glenn brought me back. To my family. To my home. The life I have, I owe to him."

That was good enough for Daryl. But something didn't connect; something didn't make sense.

"Was this before or after the fire?" Daryl asked. When the footsteps stopped moving, Daryl turned around. "What?"

"You know about that? The hospital?"

"Yeah, I was there. On a job. Was burnt to a crisp when we arrived. Your kid said you got shot. Last time he saw you was in a hospital."

"No," Rick denied. "I got shot before everyone started to turn. Don't even remember how I got there. All I know is, Glenn was the one who got me out. After the fire started."

* * *

They turned on a road Glenn told them not to. The first block was fine, scattered with debris, broken glass, and abandoned vehicles that Glenn had said were out of gas. "Trust me, I checked all of the ones nearby," he had reported. "Besides, driving around here will only draw attention." But the blocks that came after.

Bodies were everywhere.

Walkers and humans littered the streets, some fresh, some decaying, some already dead, some waiting to die. He found an old man bleeding, losing a significant amount of blood. His throat was ripped off and a lone walker gnawed on its neck while a dog lapped the pool of red. Across the street were a pair of dismembered bodies; one was missing from the waist down and the other from the waist up. Beside an abandoned pub, spiked on top of the flags, were individual breasts of different sizes and colours. Inside a dog bowl they found dicks and balls.

"Think he knew about this?" Rick asked.

Daryl pressed his lips thin. "Must've saw it when he scouted the area."

They walked, stabbing a walker every so often, cutting it down. They encountered a dead man, one that was coughing, reanimating. Rick thrust his knife into his forehead, pulled out the guy's wallet, and said a few words. The smell of death grew stronger as they walked. Bodies were defiled, cut into pieces and tossed aside. In a dark corner, they found a figure probing a dead woman. In another, there was someone else fucking a cat.

One of them, beckoned for Daryl and Rick to come and end her life, a poor woman with hair cut at odd angles. Her face was worn and weary, covered with blood. But as soon as they stepped close, she screamed, wriggling her body, calling for help.

Daryl turned, and found two men running his way. Something glinted in the distance. Daryl squinted, focusing on that shine he saw beside the two men. Swords. Getting Rick's attention, Daryl motioned toward the way they came.

"We can shoot them," Rick suggested.

"Can't. It'll draw attention." Daryl glanced at Rick's revolver. "How much bullets do you even have left?"

Rick answered. Daryl knew how much he had left. Enough to kill them, not enough to survive their stay. So they did what they had to.

They ran fast, they ran far. They ran until their chests began to hurt, their legs grew sore, and judging from the way Rick was hobbling, the guy had pulled something. When Daryl looked up, the streets began to morph, as if they were all the same street, as if every single one was just like the other. Blood and guts were everywhere. Signs were broken and faded. He cursed, wishing he paid more attention to Glenn's lecture on the Old City's geography.

They tried hiding, but it seemed wherever they hid, the two men would be heading straight for them. So they ran.

Daryl grabbed Rick's sleeve and dragged him around. The two men were gaining. And quick. The number of options Daryl had was thinning, each one being scratched off the list as they ran. Hiding in that building didn't seem fruitful based on the blood marks that made it look like someone was dragged under the door. Hiding in a car would only trap them. Turning onto a random street could seal their fate if there were more Zoners—no, crazies—or walkers waiting just behind the corner.

But he had to take that chance. So Daryl turned onto the next street, and when he caught a glimpse, he remembered where he was.

"This is where they took him," he muttered quickly under his breath. He looked to his east. "And that's where they went."

"I can't run anymore," Rick gasped in between breaths.

A risk idea formulated in his head and he knew it was worth the risk. Daryl jogged toward the alley where Glenn was taken and took a look inside, using his knife. When Rick reached him, Daryl grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him to the ground.

"Stay low. Move quick. Shut up."

He directed Rick toward the back, crawling on hands and knees. And then he saw a doorway that went into the building, a recess in the wall. He slid up against the bricks and sat with his knees close to his chest. When Rick was close, he forced Rick to sit with him, knee against knee.

"What are we—?"

"Quiet," Daryl whispered, bringing a finger to his lips. "Get your gun out. In case."

Daryl reached to his side and removed the safety. He gulped, trying to ignore the drops of sweat on his forehead that threatened to attack his eyes. His mouth was dry, thirsty. His legs were sore and his hope was weary. His breath was ragged, ready to give any second. Rick was worse.

"Where the fuck are you?" someone yelled.

"Can't run from us!" the other hooted.

"We don't give a crap where you're from!"

"This alley ain't long!"

"We goin' to find you and feed your balls to our dogs!"

"Or maybe each other!" They laughed maniacally.

Daryl closed his eyes and opened his ears, listening for the opportune moment to strike. He raised his gun, finger lightly placed on his finger. He felt a shoe nudge him from his side, Rick's, he realized. He nodded slowly, giving Rick the go ahead.

"There ain't nowhere to hide!"

"You're either…behind the dumpster!"

"No?" Maybe… in the dumpster!" A loud thump echoed in the alley. Sounds of wrinkling paper.

"That means one place left!"

Daryl frowned, and abruptly opened his eyes. He shifted his weight, getting ready to stand, whirl around, and shoot the guy in the head, when he heard a gun go off, echoing loudly in the alley. He covered his ears, protecting himself from the boom. Another shot was fired. Daryl pressed his palms close, blocking most of the sound out.

He turned, taking a look at Rick, who was still crouched in the corner, body braced against the door, hands on his ears. He looked again and saw the two men on the ground, with bullets in their heads, blood and brains mixing together, oozing out of the exit wounds.

That's when he heard the familiar cackle.

"Don't shoot!" Daryl yelled, walking into the alley, raising his arms up high. "It's me!"

"Dixon!" he heard Rick hiss. "What are you doing?"

"I'd know that stupid ass laugh anywhere," Daryl explained. He turned loudly and spoke, "Merle, it's me!"

"Who's Merle?"

"My brother."

* * *

"This where you run off to after you take my food?"

"Where the fuck's your bow?" Merle seethed, poking Daryl with the end of his rifle. "Worked hard to get you that shit."

Daryl noticed his boots were breaking down, worn between the seams. "Lost it."

"And you call yourself a Dixon," Merle said, words dripping with distaste. He laughed and continued, "Don't worry, Darlena. Stick with me and you ain't gotta worry about a thing."

Daryl nodded absently. "We're lookin' for someone."

Merle raised a brow and took a good look at Rick, who was standing curiously from the side. "Popo your prisoner?"

"He's with me." Daryl stood, getting Merle to face him instead. Daryl explained what happened, what the perpetrators looked like. He kept his eye on Merle the whole time, refusing to look at Rick's. The rumble from his stomach took away from his serious tone. "Took somethin' of mine. And I want it back."

"That prego bitch of yours?"

Daryl glowered. "No. I ain't knockin' up no one in a world like this."

"Just your bitch then." Merle raised his arms lazily. "Sounds to me like you got yourself a dilemma. Thems the 'Spics. Vatos. Some new gang. Don't like to poke their brown heads around these parts. Probably 'cause they know I'm here." He snickered, wrapping an arm around Daryl's shoulders. "No one messes with us Dixons."

"Don't got time to fool around, Merle." Daryl spoke firmly. "Need to know where I can find them."

"All in due time, lil' brother." Merle smirked. "Looks to me like you're hungry."

* * *

Daryl barely chewed before swallowing. Merle had snarled at a man and got two bowls of stew. He returned, placing one in front of Daryl, the other in front of himself. The meat was squishy yet slightly crunch, crisp on the outside. After finishing half of his bowl, Daryl pushed it over to the cop. He sat beside Rick on a small square table. Across from him, staring with a cheeky smirk was his brother. To the right, was a trio clad in sleek body armour. To his left as an empty table. Around them, was a bustling crowd. It was busy. It was loud. People passed close by them, shuffling left and right, invading the personal space Daryl treasured.

They were inside some large building a few blocks away from where they found Merle. It was where he camped, where he'd sit and wait for his targets to come. To Merle, it was easy money. Sure, walkers were easy targets, but nothing raked in the food and sex like slaying a murderer or two.

"So it's like the Hunter's Helm," Rick pointed out with a whisper. "Except here bounties can be placed on people."

"Seems like it." Daryl nodded, hitting someone's arm accidentally. He glared at the man who came too close and sent him scattering. People of all shapes and sizes were around him, many with armour and weapons, many scantily dressed, a few not dressed at all. In a dark corner, he spied a threesome. "Reminds me of this place in the Burbs too."

"This place here's run by some fancy gentleman," Merle scoffed. He tipped the bowl up and the soup slid slowly, a few drops leaking from the sides of his mouth. "Name's Dave."

"Look, Merle," Rick peered from above his bowl. "We appreciate the hospitality but we really must—"

"Just show me where they are," Daryl demanded. "Don't got time for this."

"Aw, missin' your woman, huh?" Merle chuckled. "Well, we've got a fine selection here." Merle raised his arm and grabbed someone's arm, a girl who was walking behind him. She was dressed in tight white jeans. "Hey! Baby Buns! Come over here and make my brother a man!"

She stopped and so did her swinging ponytail. She turned around and stood nervously in front of Merle. Her eyes moved quickly, as if she was scanning the situation, assessing how to get out. But when her eyes met Daryl's, she almost gasped. Daryl pressed his lips thin and shook his head slightly, hoping Merle wouldn't catch on.

"Not here." Daryl gave a grim look. He spoke, hoping to get a clear message across to her instead. "Maybe we can just take you home instead."

"My name's not Baby Buns," she said, pulling her arm away from Merle's grasp. "It's Wenonah."

* * *

Amy was busy. That was what she said. No matter how many times Daryl and Rick dropped hints that Andrea was here to get her and spoke with underlying meanings, Amy refused to read between the lines. Or maybe she didn't.

She moved from the table, sashaying her hips back and forth, moving her head left, then a few feet later, moved it right, then again left. Daryl only moved his eyes to see what she was looking at. To her left, was a man with crossed arms, to her right was another guy, one who was pacing with a gun, to the left was a teenager with an innocent face.

Amy was being watched.

* * *

Before they left the building, Daryl managed to make up an excuse about swiping a bow from someone's stall. He moved swiftly, eyes open, scouring the crowd for that flash of blonde, past the stalls selling meat, the ones bartering technologies, those selling weapons of all kids, the cots with people having sex in plain sight. Daryl searched, travelling from one corner of the building to the other, but he found nothing.

Amy was gone.

When he returned, Merle snorted. "Couldn't do it, could you? Couldn't swipe that bow?"

Daryl faced Merle and spoke, "Was gone when I got there."

"We'll find her when we come back." Rick nodded.

"So, what's this bitch of yours like?" Merle laughed, leading them down a tight corridor between two buildings. "No, don't tell me she's that leather-bound slut with the walker-gina?"

"The what?" Rick blurted at the same time Daryl hissed, "No!"

"Walker-gina!" Merle ducked down an alley, crouching behind a car with no windows. They followed. He turned toward Daryl. "Good thing you didn't! There's a cure for the Clap but gettin' walkerroids mean you'll turn!"

"Don't think I want to know," Rick shook his head, disgusted.

"Sounds like one of those stories the Eye spouts," Daryl agreed.

"The old man?" Merle snickered. "Them ain't stories, Darlena! Them's the real deal! People fuckin' walkers to get off! This is what the world has become!"

* * *

"There's where your bitch is." Merle pointed across the street, at a large building that stood behind a brick wall. There was a metal panel, perhaps a garage door of some kind. The yard was covered in cement, with a few cracks here and there permitting weeds the relief of sunshine. "If she's still alive. Probably fucked five ways to—"

Daryl glared. "Shut the fuck up. Stop gawkin' at me and let's bust in."

"Easier said than done." Rick shook his head. "Maybe we could get a look around. Might be easier to get in from the back."

He took a step forward but came to an abrupt halt when a screech pierced the air. Daryl immediately bent his knees and sank toward the ground. Crouching behind his brother, Daryl waited. He felt Rick's breath on the back of his arm.

"The hell was that?"

"Scared?" Merle teased with a knowing smirk. "Buck up, son. This is goin' to be one hell of a ride!" He lifted up his gun, cocked it, and nudged his head toward the front door. "Let's go!"

"No!" Rick hissed. "Merle! Get back here!"

Daryl reached out, to grab onto Merle, to hold him back. But it was too late. His brother ran forward, gun raised high, demanding entrance into the Vatos' stronghold. Daryl gritted his teeth, running the possibilities of the mission being royally fucked. He leaned over, to get a better view. Merle was still yelling, pumping his gun into the air and trying to command anyone's attention.

"Fuck," he said under his breath. No matter how invincible his brother seemed to be, Daryl remembered he helped Miguel procure a bag of guns. "Look for a back way in. Go!"

Rick nodded anxiously before he turned and rounded a corner. Daryl braced his back against the wall, eyes scanning the buildings around. Their doors were broken, the walls covered in graffiti, and the windows, which although appeared to be empty, could be housing a sniper. And out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw something blur by. Daryl pushed himself off the wall, leaning forward.

A crouching figure was creeping their way toward them with one hand against the wall, the other, clutching something in their hand. With haste, Daryl pressed his back against the bricks, readied his handgun, and held his breath. He imagined how fast the figure was moving and how long before he would be reached. Thirteen seconds. He counted down.

He jumped five seconds earlier, to get a good amount of space between him and whoever was headed his way. Daryl held his pistol out and aimed for the head.

"Drop it!" Daryl hissed, pointing his gun at the familiar face. "You! You fuckin' took Glenn!"

"Dixon!" the teen whimpered, knees quivering. Miguel raised his arms in a placating manner. His eyes opened wide, his lips trembled, his arms shook tensely, his face practically begged not to be shot. Daryl took a step forward and the kid froze. "I— I—"

"Spit it out!" Daryl demanded. He continued to move, keeping his hand high, bringing his weapon closer to Miguel's face. "Thought you worked together, for Jack, runnin' packages in and out of the Zone."

"I had no choice!" the teen shouted, running his fingers through his short hair.

"Don't matter." Daryl spat at the kid's shoe. The kid suddenly froze, his eyes glossed over as if he wasn't looking at Daryl anymore. "You're my ticket in."

"Don't say I didn't do anythin' for you, lil' brother." Merle said from somewhere behind Daryl. Daryl turned and saw Merle raise his rifle and slam the butt of the gun onto Miguel's forehead. The teen crumpled to the ground, knocked out. "That oughta do it."

Rick came from around the corner. "Window in the back. No one's there."

Daryl turned and gave Merle a questioning look. "This ain't even their hideout. Is it?"

"No," Merle said, turning around. He pointed toward another building just down the street. "That is."

"Then why'd you bring us here for?"

Merle smirked, lightly kicking Miguel in the side. "To get us some bait."

* * *

The kid brought them to a long pale building. Wooden planks lined the windows from the insides. There were broken signs out front. An old folk's home. It looked broken, unattended, a perfect place to hide. Daryl yelled, demanding an audience, demanding to be heard. He raised his pistol. Rick raised his. When the door finally opened, Miguel muffled through the tape plastered over his mouth.

A short man strode forward, confident with an edge of cockiness. Sweat glistened on his forehead when he came into the light. Behind him, were two men, one of was them large, round, and bald, but both of them had guns. The short one scratched his beard, shifting his gaze from Daryl, to Rick, to Miguel. The two groups stood, ten feet apart from each other, staring inquisitively.

"Here's your man." Rick pushed Miguel toward them. The teen stumbled toward them, only to be held back when Rick grabbed his shirt. Rick ripped off the tape. "Now give us ours."

"Doesn't sound even to me."

Daryl pointed the gun repeatedly toward the short man. But when he did, the round man raised his small pistol at Daryl's head. Daryl pressed his lips tight, rocking back and forth, waiting.

A loud bang echoed in the yard, drawing everyone's attention .The round man jumped backward, raising his legs off the ground. All eyes turned, facing the ground where the man stood. In the ground was a piece of metal. The short man arched his head high, following the bullet's trajectory, to where Merle was, in a window, waiting for the word to fire.

"Come on, G," Miguel pleaded, slightly panicky, before starting to ramble meekly in Spanish.

Something flashed in Daryl's mind. He had seen this interaction somewhere before. "I know you. Brought you your package. In that stinkin' hut."

G turned, blinking before a sense of familiarity filled his face. "You. You're that hunter."

Daryl shouted. "I helped you get your—" Daryl caught himself. Instead of saying the bag of guns, which he unknowingly stole from Rick, he chose another word. "…Shit. Your package. Kid would've died on his own."

"Sounds like an even trade," Rick agreed calmly.

"Can't do it," G pressed his lips thin, angling his head toward Rick. "Not with that guy on the loose."

"Who?"

"You see, some of my boys were caught up, in a bit of a mess." G wiped his hands on his shirt. "Some old underboss wants them dead."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Rick asked, trying to ignore the sweat rolling down his face.

"The Asian kid? Well, he used to work for him."

"Used to," Daryl cocked his head. "Don't anymore."

"I've heard otherwise," G nodded toward Miguel. "Your kid asked Felipe's cousin here to bring some food to him a short while back. Don't sound like he's broken any ties at all."

"Don't give a damn." Daryl snorted. He didn't look toward Rick, who seemed to be putting all the pieces together. And if he did, chances were, he wouldn't want to get Glenn back. "People change. Doesn't matter what we did back then. What matters is what the fuck we do now. The old fart's dead. Killed him myself. Now give him back. One runner for another!"

"Thought people from the Clear didn't take jobs like that."

Daryl grunted, placing his finger against the trigger, and aimed for G's head. "Accidents happen."

The heat bore down on them as they waited. The sun threatened above them to set within a few hours. The only relief was a cool breeze that tempted Daryl to move. Rick had a stern look, staring at G, who appeared to be running multiple scenarios in his head. Merle was getting antsy, Daryl knew. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his brother struggling to stay still. But still, Daryl stayed. He tried to lock his arms but the weight, the tiredness. Daryl groaned, cussing under his breath.

The standstill felt like forever.

G opened his mouth and spoke through chapped lips. "What's that dude to you?"

Daryl furrowed his brows and pressed his lips thin. He looked to Merle, who was watching with a curious gaze. He looked to Rick, who stared at Daryl curiously. He looked to G, who was tapping his foot repeatedly. He looked to Miguel, who was frantically shaking. Daryl gulped.

He lowered his gun and took a step forward.

* * *

They walked, all of them silently, back to their new base. Rick strode ahead, walking briskly, wanting to return to his son. Glenn, who tromped with his head hung low, trailed slowly behind the cop. Daryl kept a few feet behind the kid at all times, watching their backs. They returned the way they came. However, unlike on the way to the Vatos' hideout, the streets were clear. No bodies. No walkers. Only stains of blood.

When Guillermo pushed Glenn, who was bound in rope and tape, forward, relief flushed through Daryl. He found himself able to breath easily, even more so when he grabbed the kid's wrists and dragged him out of there.

Merle had vanished. Daryl ran into the building to find his brother. He rushed up the stairs to the room where he hid. But he was gone. Disappeared. No trace of him anywhere. You never know with Merle Dixon.

As soon as they reached that fancy apartment, Daryl broke the news to Andrea. She pulled him aside, into the small room with bookshelves that reached the ceiling. He explained everything, how the place looked like the Helm, how they whored people out, how Amy was being watched. Unlike the other times they spoke, she didn't burst out in anger. She talked calm, calculatingly, cold. Like a killer.

He found Rick in the large bedroom with the children. The cop whispered, explaining their adventure in to his son and Sophia. Both listened with intrigue written all over their faces. He watched from the doorway, observing the playful interaction and the light banter, nothing the warmth that resonated in the room—not from the fireplace—the one that stemmed from the people.

Daryl entered the kitchen, hoping to prepare a meal when the kid ambushed him. By Glenn. He found the Korean, slightly hunched over the counter, gripping the marble tight enough for his knuckles to be white.

"I don't get you Dixon. You confuse me. I thought you changed. And you did!" Glenn kept his voice low, trying to hold back the sniffles that kept trying to break through. But he burst out with a loudness filled with desperation. "But then you left me! You let them take me! I thought I was going to die!"

"I did what I had to…" Daryl started, but he couldn't finish his sentence. To keep you safe. They were threatening to shoot you. They were going to kill you. Take you away. "They had a gun against your head."

"One minute you're here and the next you're distant. I don't know what you're thinking because you never talk about anything! The next thing I know you're outside their base threatening to shoot Guillermo in the head! For what? For me? So you can get paid by Jacqui? For her bag of guns?"

Daryl closed his mouth, clenching his jaw. He strode toward the door, unable to explain how it all happened. Instead, he came out with something else, "Got to go. Found Amy. Andrea and I are leavin' tonight. Lots of plannin' and shit to do."

"I didn't think you'd come back," Glenn whispered from somewhere behind him.

Daryl frowned, frustrated at the kid's statement. "Me either."

"I thought…" Glenn cried with clenched fists. He moved, only to be stopped by the kid's desperate question. "Why did you come back, Daryl? Why did you come back?"

Before he left, Daryl turned to look at Glenn, who just stood there in shock. A tear ran down Glenn's cheek. Daryl took a deep breath and mustered the strength to let those walls fall down. He reached into his back pocket and pulled the kid's hat out. He popped the cap's top out, making it even with his fist, and patted down the kid's hair before fixing it on his head. The pounding in his chest grew stronger, faster as Daryl raised his hand, slowly brought it to Glenn's face, and lightly pressed a finger against the kid's cheek, staring into the kid's eyes as he slid the finger downward, wiping the tear away; saying everything he wanted without speaking the words he could never bring himself to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We had everything to say to each other, but no ways to say it." – Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close


	22. Walls Fall Down

"No!" Glenn yelled from somewhere behind him.

Daryl spun around. "No?"

"You don't just get to do that and walk away!" Glenn protested, waving his arms furiously. "You can't just leave me here!"

"Just watch me." He started to move, only to be stopped this time not by Glenn's words, but his hand, which latched onto his wrist.

"I'm not some damsel in distress." Glenn tugged hard. "I refuse to be useless! I refuse to stand in the sidelines watching the people I care about risk their lives!"

Daryl stomped back to the kid, yelling while he blew air into Glenn's face, "How the hell do you think I felt, huh? After all those times you ran off and did stupid shit? Gettin' my bow back on our first run? And now goin' off on your own in the middle of the night while I waited from a freakin' roof?" Daryl placed his palms on Glenn's chest, pressed down, and pushed him hard. "Step off, kid! And stay the fuck put!"

Daryl strode to the door, fists clenched and jaw shut tight, using every ounce of his strength to keep moving forward and not look back.

* * *

They were in the back room, planning. Andrea wanted to run off as soon as possible but Rick managed to persuade her not to.

"She's being watched," he had told. "We go in there guns blazin'…"

She nodded scornfully. "Then when?"

"Night," Rick suggested. "If she's been missing for weeks and is still alive, they're not getting rid of her soon."

"Then Dixon and I will go," Andrea suggested. "If stealth is what we need."

Although he's not familiar with the neighbourhood, Glenn drew a map, recalling as many passageways to get in and out. His hands were fluid, drawing shapes here and there, drawing lines with different colours, crossing out streets and buildings that should be avoided. When he finished, he wiped his hands, collected his markers and walked out of the room, pausing only to smile hesitantly at Daryl. But instead of joining the planning session like he usually did, he left Andrea to prepare for Amy's rescue with Dixon and Rick.

"And Glenn?"

"He ain't goin' to do anythin' to you," Daryl retorted. Rick was thinking about Glenn's ties to the mob, Daryl knew it. "Kid's done nothin' but save your family's ass. He ain't a killer. Kid's done nothin' but good."

Rick shook his head, taking in a deep breath. "I meant, is he going too or staying here?"

Daryl snorted. "If he even tries to leave I'ma kick his ass. All eyes, Rick. I don't want him pullin' a Carl in the middle of the night." When Rick gave him a look, Daryl shot one back. "What? I call it like I see it."

* * *

Daryl was lying in front of the fireplace. The dying flame lit the room in soft colours. They were supposed to sleep, prepare for the overnight mission. But instead of resting, Andrea fiddled with the map Glenn drew for them on the back of a paper torn from a book. Her eyes scoured the sheet, mapping routes of escape in her mind. She had offered the bed to Daryl, opting to take the floor, but he shook his head. So there she sat, on the soft luxurious bed, plotting Amy's captors' demise.

He was beginning to fall under the sleepy trance when he heard loud crashes. He shot up, turned, and made his way to the door. Daryl and Andrea rushed to the room with tall shelves to find half the books on the floor, surrounding a sheepish pair of children. In the midst of Rick's wondering if they were okay and their vain apologies, Daryl realized Glenn was missing.

Daryl searched, eyes flicking from room to room. He wasn't on the couch. He wasn't behind the tall shelf. He wasn't in the bedroom.

He passed Andrea, who gave him a worried look. "Dixon, what are you doing?"

"None of your business," he snipped.

Daryl rushed to the kitchen just in time to catch Glenn slam a cupboard shut.

"Uh, hi?" Glenn turned with a somewhat surprised look on his face.

"Rick's got his eye on you," Daryl muttered, trying to hold back a smile. "Don't try anythin' stupid."

Glenn chuckled lightly and waved Daryl off with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

From the bedroom floor, he focused on Glenn's repetitive whispers. Something about apologies and acceptance. Daryl slept all afternoon, dreaming of naïve hopes and distant and once impossible futures that now seemed closer than ever before.

* * *

When the sun began to set, they began to move out. Daryl took inventory of their supplies while Andrea sat on the other side of the room, dismantling her gun, cleaning each individual piece. She eyed the metal with utmost scrutiny, holding it up above her face, turning every part around to get a good look. In a growing pile were a few cans of food, a flashlight with spare batteries, an empty first-aid kit, and a group of random knives ranging from kitchen to skinning.

She put it back together as quickly as, if not faster than, the dismantling. She watched Dixon count their supplies, her elbows on her knees, tapping her foot. Impatient.

A timid knock pierced the silence.

"Uh…" came the voice from the door. Glenn. He looked ragged, tired, and dirty. His face was covered in sweat, his breaths were short, and there was a splatter of blood on hit shirt. He was holding his hands behind back.

Andrea tipped her hat at Glenn, swung her rifle over her back, and stepped quickly toward the door. "I'll be at the door."

Daryl caught a glimpse of her gripping Glenn's arm before she turned the corner.

"Hey," Glenn murmured.

"Hey."

"So, while you were sleeping, I went out found this." Glenn walked over. He rolled his eyes, thinking of how useless Rick and Lori are at watching over Carl. Daryl should have never asked him to keep an eye on Glenn. Daryl watched as the kid revealed his hand. An offering sat on top. Daryl lost his breath at the sight. "I'm getting close." He stared in disbelief, in wonder, in amazement. For in Glenn's hands was a single arrow with a familiar make. It was one of his. "It took forever to find." Glenn bit his lip. "Dixon, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Thanks." Daryl took it with a wry smile. He whirled and turned back to his bag and shoved everything in, placing padding in between the cans to minimize the sound of their inevitable clanging. He looked up and beside him was Glenn. The kid looked like he was about to burst, as if he was holding something in, trying, but failing miserably. Glenn rocked, moving back and forth on his feet. So Daryl took the bait and asked, "What?"

"Besides, I'm old enough to decide for myself. The world has kind of ended here. And I've got nothing better to do." Glenn paused again and stared at Daryl intently. "One arrow for one ticket on the Save Amy Train. Fair trade."

Daryl snorted. "You ain't gonna to stay, are you?"

"Nope." Glenn grinned. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Need you here," Daryl said gruffly, zipping up his bag.

"To what? Watch the kids?"

"Someone told me somethin' once." Daryl shook his head, unable to believe he what he was saying. He began with a wavering voice, but as he continued, it grew stronger. "About havin' somethin' to look forward to, somethin' to keep you goin', somethin' to make you want to come back. Wise words for a stupid kid." Daryl licked his drying lips. "I don't intend on dyin' here." Daryl strode forward, playfully bumping his shoulder against Glenn's, pushing him, and knocked him to the ground. Glenn landed on his ass with a heavy thud. Daryl loomed over the kid, who rubbed his joint achingly. "Your shoulder don't look too good. Ought to get Rick to look at that for you."

"Dude, seriously?"

Daryl rushed out of the room to hide—suppress—the smile that threatened to grow on his face.

"Don't wait up, kiddo."

* * *

Glenn had suggested a route that went out of their way by a few streets. Andrea, however, changed the plans once they left the building, and she, determined to find her sister, chose the straightest path she could find. And of course, it was filled with crazies thirsting for the chase.

They fucking ran. Daryl panted heavily, leading the way down streets that appeared more cramped in the dark, with buildings that loomed above, towering over their heads. The sky offered no assistance either for clouds blocked any light, covering the stars and the moon in thick wispy chunks. If there was light, Daryl would be able to see the condensation from his mouth. Judging by how audible her breaths were, Andrea was not far behind him.

He ducked behind a large shadowy shape—a car, one with indents on all angles, one that vaguely resembled a taxi. Pressing his back, his bag, against the dented metal, Daryl listened and waited for Andrea to follow suit. The coolness of the pavement penetrated the cloth of his pants. When he heard her footsteps, he looked up and saw her jog past him. He launched his arm out and grabbed her by the ankle. He hissed her name lightly and even though she probably couldn't see anything, brought a finger to his lips.

Andrea dropped to the ground immediately, scampering on hands and feet to sit beside him. She angled her head toward him and he had to squint to get a good look. Her lips were pressed thin and she seemed to be staring intently at the rifle in her hands.

Glenn had instructed them to only shoot when necessary, that gunfire would only attract walkers and people toward them. Guns were more valuable than gold; guns put food on the table, guns keep your family safe. Guns were last resort only. The kid blabbered on about melee weapons, as if going out on runs was some kind of game to him, one with save points, one where he can respawn. Daryl had pressed his lips thin.

So there they were, waiting, hoping that their pursuers would pass them. Daryl raised his blade high, ready to strike. Andrea did the same but with her gun. His respirations slowly began to match hers. It was quiet. The only thing Daryl could hear were their ragged breaths. If they sat there any longer, they would be easy prey. Daryl motioned with his hands, pointing at Andrea then to the ground.

As soon as she moved, something tiny tumbled on the pavement yet it caused the streets to echo with its clacking sound. Daryl felt the hairs tingle on the back of his neck and he shot her a glare. He grumbled quietly before leaning over to hear a batch of voices and footsteps grow louder.

"Hear that?"

"Yeah."

When Daryl returned to his former position, he found Andrea lying on the ground, ready to snipe from underneath the car. Her hand was raised, four fingers and a thumb outstretched. There were five of them. Daryl removed his gun from his holster and slowly pulled the slide back. A loud click resounded when he pulled it as far as he could.

"Came from over there!"

Daryl slowly guided the slide back to its original position, trying not to make another sound. He closed his eyes and listened intently, trying to pinpoint how far their followers were. He heard scuffling feet, the bottom of someone's shoes dragging across the pavement; a rustling cloth, perhaps an oversized shirt; and hushed whispers, orders, an attack plan. Daryl had to act. He couldn't die here. He couldn't die now. There were people who depended on him, people whom he depended on.

He opened his eyes and scoured the ground, looking for a small pebble, one that was round and likely to bounce. It was a small thing, a few centimetres wide, a chip off the block. It was cool to the touch with a slightly chalky feel. Daryl looked around, for somewhere to toss it. If it worked on those cheesy movies, chances were it would work for him.

"Gonna make us a distraction," he informed.

"With what?"

"Tossin' a rock that way."

Calming himself with reassuring thoughts, Daryl banished the flustering nerves from his mind. He raised the concrete chunk and turned his body ever so slightly. Just when he was about to toss it, he felt something grab onto his wrist. Daryl's gaze shot toward his hand, where he saw another was latched on. He sighed when he realized it was pale and not rotting.

"What?"

"Just wait," Andrea whispered from under the taxi. "Please." Daryl sat back down and lowered the concrete. "I think I see something." They were coming closer. Each second spent doing nothing was another chance of being caught. Daryl's brows came together as he waited begrudgingly. There were more footsteps than before.

"Can't sit here any longer," Daryl gritted through his teeth.

"Throw it." Andrea gave the go ahead. But when Daryl raised his hand, she interrupted him by grabbing his wrist once more. "No, over there. Behind them. The cat on that car."

Daryl turned slowly and raised his head to peer through the dusty windshield. "That's where we just came from."

"Trust me." Her voice was calm. Steady.

Daryl shook his head. He swiftly crawled to the side of the building quietly, to get a better angle at the cat, cringing when he heard the light clinking of cans in his bag. He crouched behind an overturned mailbox. The concrete in his hand was dirty; the bottoms covered with mid. Bringing his hand behind his head, Daryl assumed a pitching pose. He counted down and launched the chunk of asphalt. It flew swiftly above the sidewalk, nearly hitting a figure's head.

Daryl bit back a curse when he missed. He looked to where Andrea was hiding under the taxi. She gestured her head and appeared to be nodding. So Daryl scoured the ground once more, looking for something else to toss. The choice: a tiny pebble or a crumpled piece of paper. Daryl groaned internally, clenching his fists. Time was running out and it seemed that his options have already been exhausted. He resignedly removed his bag from his shoulders, unzipping it open, hushing it with a finger over the metal teeth.

Above, streaks of light began to pierce through the cloudy layer, causing a slight increase in the streets' visibility. Soon his position would be compromised; soon he would find himself surrounded. As he rummaged through his bag, fingers brushing against its contents, Daryl angled his head and got a better look.

The figures were moving now and it seemed like their numbers were growing an intersection away. Between them and Daryl was the car wit the cat. Four of them were searching inside the bus a few meters away from Daryl; one of them stood on top with binoculars, looking toward Andrea's general direction; and six, no, seven of them mulled about just underneath the bus.

When the one standing on the bus turned the other way, Daryl grabbed a can and flung it hard, flung it high, toward the cat. The can spun in the air, soaring past the intersection. Daryl held back a roar when the can connected with the car, thudding against the metal. The cat yowled and curved its back. It screeched and jumped off the car, hissing as it scampered off into the dark. Daryl gulped when all the figures stopped moving and turned to face the car, which was in between them and where Daryl was hiding. He immediately lowered himself to the ground, zipped his bag, and waited.

"Did you hear that?"

"That a cat?"

"Must be over there. By the car."

Andrea got out from under the taxi as swiftly, as quietly as she could. She sat up beside Daryl and nodded. "Sit tight."

"That your big plan?" Daryl mocked. "Let them know we're out here?"

"Just wait for it," she said calmly.

"Who's that?"

"Who's what?"

"Those people. Outside the bus."

"You part of Sean's group? Hello?"

That's when they heard the screams. "Roamers!"

Andrea gave him what appeared to be a smug grin before she crawled to the next intersection. Daryl rolled his eyes and followed.

* * *

Daryl crouched and motioned for Andrea to move beside him. The building where Merle had taken him appeared to be empty. The streets were clear. The door, lit by a pair of torches was closed. In the windows were lights that varied in intensity, dimming and brightening every few seconds. The place was lit by flame. Daryl wondered how those from the Old City would react if they knew the Domino Block had generators. Probably the same way people from the Clear were, crowding the complex's fence, demanding entrance and refuge.

"What's the plan?" He nodded toward the door. "Can't break in through there. Might be alarms or goons walkin' around."

"The roof?"

The building was three stories high. They ended up climbing another building two streets away to get a better view. From a window, they saw lone figures patrolling the perimeter, not of only the building, but of the neighbourhood as well.

They squatted in a dark corner and used Daryl's flashlight to decipher Glenn's map. The lines, although distinct in colour, were hard to discern in the dark. Hues mixed together, blues could easily be mixed up with indigoes. Although Glenn knew the area before, Daryl knew that the layout changed since Glenn was last here. The lines didn't match up. Things have been moved around; streets that were clear were now blocked, buildings were broken down, doors were locked shut.

"Seems elaborate for a guild," Andrea wondered as she slid into a sitting position. "Isn't like this at the Helm."

"We're not in the Clear," Daryl reminded her. "This is the Old City."

"But why? What are they hiding?"

"Probably to protect against crazies or walkers. We're in the Zone. Have to survive against the dead and the livin'." Daryl looked at the roads, which seemed to have a man posted at the middle of every intersection. They were standing on cars, standing in clear sight. "Can't snipe. Can't get in from the streets."

"What about indoor and underground passages?"

Daryl shook his head. Glenn wasn't familiar with this particular area of the Old City and was incapable of supplying them with any information at all. But he knew someone who was.

They waited until sunrise, alternating with shifts of small naps and keeping watch while trying to ignore the screams for help that rang throughout the city like a chorus of death. When he woke, Andrea was leaning against the wall, staring out the window. Although he felt decently rested, he could see the exhaustion all over her. Her body was slumped, shoulders sagging, arms resting at her sides with her hands holding them up from her pocket, the bags on her eyes only grew overnight. They ate straight out of the cans. Cold beans never tasted so good.

The trek to the alley where he originally found Merle was long. Care was taken when they walked on the streets. From above, it seemed as if they were being watched. Shadowy figures stood behind tall building windows. Individuals, pairs, and groups of people ran through roads, many being chased, many doing the chasing. They ducked and hid at the slightest of sounds.

At one point, they encountered a trio of thugs in an alley. They were young. Their jeans had rips although did not have any dirt or grime. Their shirts were clean. The girl with long flowing hair stared at Andrea's gun. The skinny boy stared at Daryl's.

"Move," Andrea commanded, gesturing with her gun. "We don't want to hurt you."

"Then why'd you bring us here?" the boy countered with a raised fist and accusatory finger pointing.

Andrea and Daryl shared a look. "We didn't bring anyone here. I'm looking for my sister. You see her?"

The three said nothing, pressing their lips thin. Andrea kept her gun raised, ready to shoot. While she looked forward, Daryl moved his head, scouring the walls for any traps, looking back to the way they came. Andrea cocked her gun. They stiffened at the sound with their arms freezing at their sides and stern faces falling, morphing into ones of fear.

"Go on," Daryl spat. "Get!" But they didn't move. They stood firmly with their fists raised. "Do I need to bust a cap up your ass?"

The trio ran away.

* * *

Daryl had to yell four times to coax Merle out of his perch at the back of the alley. Merle jumped down and sauntered down the thin passageway, swerving around dumpsters and cans with an air of cockiness. He stood a few feet from Daryl when he laid his eyes on Andrea.

"Hey, Sugar Tits," he flirted. Andrea gave him a cold, disgusted look. He smirked back. "You'll be thinkin' otherwise when I get my paws on you."

"Merle." Daryl implored, "We need your help."

"What now?" Merle pressed his lips thin. "Need ol' Merle to save your ass once again? This your bitch?" Merle pointed at Andrea. Daryl wanted to look at the ground, avoid Merle's gaze, but he didn't. He stood and stared at his brother silently. "This another one of your suicide missions?"

Andrea gasped. "What? We just need a guide. I just want my sister—"

"You brought me to them Vatos pricks and we almost died. And for what? You brought me there, you brought me there to pick up some chink?" Merle sniped. "Well, you know what? Screw him! Screw you!" He stormed off, mumbling about risking his life for some low-life thief.

Daryl's eyes opened wide at Merle's implication. With clenched fists, Daryl turned his head aside. Merle remembered. Merle knew. When Daryl heard fading footsteps he looked up and watched as Merle stalked down to the back of the alley with his gun resting on his shoulder.

"We came for the guns," Daryl said feebly, when Merle was gone from his sight, an excuse. "Just have to keep the kid safe."

"Just going to leave him here?" Andrea mumbled then sighed dejectedly.

"He's tough. Can eat a pack of nails and shit them out." Daryl nodded. "Don't worry. He'll come around before you know it. Show up on your doorstep higher than fuck. Nothin' can kill Merle except Merle."

Andrea leaned against the wall, hiding from the sun in a thick patch of shade. "So much for that plan. Any other ideas?"

They stood in the alley, wracking their minds for a plan. Daryl was stumped. Not only was he unfamiliar with the Old City, he didn't know how to treat the people. Andrea grunted. She crossed her arms and mumbled about trying to wing it. Daryl closed his eyes and sighed resignedly. And suddenly, he felt something knock past him, hitting him square in the shoulder. He turned and found Merle on the road cocking his rifle. Someone screamed in the distance.

"How many guns we talkin' about?"


	23. Just an Apartment

Merle sauntered into the building with that arrogant step that Daryl was accustomed to. Andrea followed his brother's footsteps and Daryl was right behind her. Since it was day, Merle suggested that walking in be the easiest and least suspicious action. They walked through the bustling crowd, squeezing in between people here and there. Leading them through the crowded place, Merle insisted they not touch anything unless they planned to pay for it.

"It's kind of like the Helm," Andrea pointed out, raising Daryl's bag higher on her back. He pressed up against his bag, which was on Andrea's back, ensuring no one would try and steal any of their supplies.

"That's what they'd like you to think," Merle scoffed without turning his head, to which Andrea responded with a pout.

They continued through the building, evading trading deals that sounded great but in fact involved the vendor ripping patrons off and people offering their bodies for food. Daryl noticed Andrea shivering when they passed a blonde teenager. Daryl grabbed her forearm and yanked her forward. Merle brought them to a crowded section of tables, filled with people lunging for seats. Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl spied an empty table. He spun and pointed it out. Merle strode toward it with his shoulders raised, baring his teeth to whoever dared to move to close to the empty chairs.

It was a small round table with no room for leg space. After Merle plopped onto the chair, Daryl took a seat. Andrea hovered nervously before the chair in front of her slid open. Daryl felt Merle's leg move beside his. She sat without hesitation. They had their guns in their laps and Daryl kept his bag on.

Merle leaned forward, clasping his fingers together. "Listen up, kids. We got different rules here from the Clear. No one ain't touchin' you if you're in Haven but once you step foot outside those doors and pass them boundaries, you's free game."

Daryl and Andrea looked around them. Everyone was bustling, trading weapons and haggling prices. People of all shapes and sizes, ages, from different walks of life. He swore he heard someone trade their hand for an axe. Daryl pressed his lips thin.

"That why they bring people here? Food and game?"

Merle gave Daryl a knowing look. "It ain't like crops grow on cement. Only thing to eat is each other."

Holding his breath, Daryl frowned and stared at his brother. Merle cackled softly and Daryl relaxed when he saw Merle's lips twitch. Merle wasn't no cannibal. No wonder Merle took half of Daryl's food supply with him each time he came back to the apartment.

"So this is what it's like in the Zone," Andrea shook her head. "It's a free for all blood bath."

"The Clear is full of pussies." Merle snorted. "The Borderlands ain't shit. People there'd stab you in the back but people here stab you in your face. Welcome to the Old City."

Daryl kicked his brother in the shin. "The fuck you doin' here, Merle?"

Merle countered with a kick twice as hard. Andrea cursed, caught in the crossfire. Merle sniggered, causing Daryl to cross his arms and roll his eyes. Andrea rubbed her shin with her jaw clenched.

"Ain't that your girl?" Merle pointed out. Standing a few tables over was Amy in an obnoxiously tight shirt and a pair of black short shorts. Daryl swatted at his brother, who ogled without shame. "Wonder how she lasted this long. Gone at least a month, eh?"

Amy was moving sluggishly in the crowd, discretely dodging oncoming hands that flew to cop feel. But not all of her attempts succeeded. Her face froze, slightly scrunching up, when a hand made contact with her clothes or skin. Her eyes glossed over and she pressed onward and almost passed their table.

Daryl launched an arm out and grabbed her wrist. He looked up at her. She looked back and furrowed her brows. To his side, Merle was glaring at Andrea, who looked like she was ready to burst into tears any second. Merle shook his head slightly. Daryl felt Amy shiver when she laid her eyes on her sister, so he let go of her arm.

"How?" Amy whispered in disbelief. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and then continued. "How can I help you?"

"How about a little chat?" Daryl asked, leaning back in his chair.

"You're barking up the wrong tree, mister. Maybe you can go somewhere else."

"Lookin' for some fun," Merle leaned onto the table and licked his lips. Andrea shot him a dirty look. He chuckled at her. "Come on Baby Buns. How much you cost? Where can we get a good piece?"

"Excuse me?" Amy stuck her thumb out and gestured somewhere behind her. Her other hand was on the table. Daryl traced her finger as it moved in familiar motions. "But if you want a good time, you can go over there. It'll only cost you an arm and maybe a leg." She shook her head. And when Andrea was about to open her mouth, Amy cut her off. "Look, I need to get going. See you around."

With that, Amy walked away, leaving Andrea stunned. They sat at the table, Merle leaning back with his hands behind his head, Daryl looking at the way she pointed, Andrea watching her leave.

"I don't get it." Andrea sniffled.

"She's bein' watched," Daryl reminded, placing a hand on her shoulder. He stood and kicked his chair back underneath the table. Merle took his rifle off his lap and did the same. "Come on. Can't sit here all day." She got out of her chair with her eyes closed, trying to hide the tears without brining attention to them. "This ain't over."

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Merle gave a knowing look. Daryl nodded, which caused his brother to smirk. "Then let's blow this pop stand!"

They marched in line, Merle leading the way once more and Andrea in between with the supplies. Daryl scanned the area, noticing a few people standing with crossed arms, elevated from the ground. They were keeping guard. He looked to the crowd, eyeing the weapons each person head, which varied from guns and grenades to lead pipes and sticks with nails sticking out of them. When they were out the door, Daryl's eye caught a flash of red. He did a double take and turned around, his eyes following the baseball cap inside the building.

* * *

In the end, Daryl followed Merle, who led them to a building nearby his alley. The first level was an abandoned café with shattered cups all over the floor. Tables were turned over, chairs broken and smashed. The blackboard behind the counter was covered in profanities and cries for help. When he asked, Andrea denied seeing Glenn walk into Haven. She hadn't noticed, too busy wracking her brain for reasons Amy's actions. Daryl bit his lip and crossed his arms, tapping his fingers on his skin. He leaned on the wall and hit the back of his head on it.

"What's with the long face? Constipated? Need to take a shit?" Merle snickered from across the room. Merle pointed to the corner of the room "Bowl." He hooted. "Use the apron to wipe!"

Daryl frowned and looked out the front window, to the street, watching for intruders, avoiding his brother's gaze.

"Why are we here?" Andrea whined from a chair. "We should be looking around Haven for ways in and out."

Daryl shook his head. "We got all we need."

"What do you mean?" Andrea paced, raising her voice. "We saw nothing! We sat at a table and did nothing."

"We know enough," Daryl snubbed. "She told us where to go. When and who to meet. She told us she'd see us around."

"And where would that be, Dixon?"

Merle looked at Andrea. "What? You talkin' to me, Honey Buns?"

She looked back and forth between Daryl and Merle, shaking her head when she understood. "Brothers. You're both Dixons."

"What of it?" Merle snapped. Andrea said nothing.

"Read between the lines. She gestured with her thumb and was writin' letters on the table. A direction. An address. A name. A time," Daryl told, with Merle nodding haughtily in the background. "Have to wait it out."

Andrea sighed resignedly and stalked off to the back of the building, avoiding chunks of glasses and mugs when she walked, leaving Daryl alone with his brother. Outside the window, Daryl saw a figure speed down the sidewalk.

Merle was sitting on the counter, legs swinging, cleaning the gunk from under his nails. Merle seemed thinner than Daryl remembered with hollowed cheeks, with less hair. His pants were ragged, thoroughly soiled in dirty. The boots on his feet were worn out, dusty, loosening at the seams. Daryl heard a loud scoff.

"Take a picture, faggot." With an arrogant grin, Merle pumped a fist in front of his crotch. "Everyone wants a piece of Merle."

"What you call me?" Daryl pushed himself off the wall and balled his fists, clenching them tight enough for his nails to dig into his skin. He stomped up to his brother, leaving a couple of feet in between them. He breathed out through his nose, strong enough for his brother to feel it.

"I call it like I see it." Merle shrugged nonchalantly before giving Daryl a knowing smirk. "You're walkin' on fuckin' sunshine. Don't think I can't see it, that smug look on your face. Ever since we rescued your lil' princess." Merle batted his eyelashes at Daryl. "Lil' Darlena's in love." Merle chuckled smugly. "I called it since we were kids. And when Pa started goin' to town—" Daryl pressed his lips thin when he saw Merle looking at his chest, as if Merle could see the scars through his shirt. "Turned out I was right."

Daryl switched gears. "Come home, Merle."

"There ain't no home to go to." Merle shot a cold look at Daryl, staring him in the eye. "You kiddin' me? You thought it was a home? What shit are you smokin'?" Merle snorted. "Hell, I wasn't even there half the time. Out bonin' chicks, snortin' shit, and rackin' up dough. Makin' a name for myself in juvie. What were you doin'? Gettin' lost in the woods and makin' sandwiches! Gettin' your ass handed to you?" With one hand, Merle rubbed his cheeks, dragging his skin around and down. "Can't believe you miss that shithole."

Daryl couldn't believe what his brother was saying. "It was broken. But it was ours."

"It was never ours," Merle spat as he pushed himself off the counter, sliding his ass off the wood. He turned away from Daryl with his arms crossed. "That ain't no home. And if you think it was you're dumber than you look. And we all know you were born stupid."

Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets and moved to stand beside his brother. He sighed resignedly. "Hey, Merle. Do you think?"

Merle grimly shook his head. "No."

* * *

Merle rounded the corner, leading the way. Andrea walked in the middle of the two brothers, eyes scanning the distance. Daryl's raked over the building numbers, searching for movement in the windows. The location was abandoned; there were a few buildings nearby but no signs of walkers or other people. They scouted the streets and buildings nearby the street corner. It was some large department store that had been blocked off. A glass wall covered the main entrance.

"This the right address?" Andrea asked. Daryl only nodded.

The sun was setting in the distance so they patrolled the building, looking for an entrance. All the main doors appeared to be blocked, probably to fend off rotting interlopers, but Daryl insisted there was a side entrance. Merle went ahead while Daryl debated if he could break the glass with an axe he found. Andrea shook his head, saying that it would be too loud.

"Back door?" Andrea suggested.

"Get your asses back here!" Merle yelled from behind the building.

Daryl tossed the axe aside and unclipped his gun. He jogged down the sidewalk and turned to stare in the alley, where a gun was raised at Merle's head. Daryl raised his gun high and gave Merle look. But his brother only snickered.

"The hell, Merle!" Andrea hissed.

"Drop 'em," came the command from the hooded figure.

A quick glance up allowed Daryl to notice a someone with a gun aimed at his head. Daryl slowly bent his knee, keeping his left hand high, while lowering the one on the right to the ground. When the metal touched the pavement, Daryl reluctantly released his grip and stood back up. Behind him, he heard a similar clacking sound, which meant Andrea was following the direction.

The back door swung open and an armoured figure, padded with thick cotton and a helmet, ran out. Daryl gritted his teeth, trying remain as still as possible. Gathering the guns from the ground—he heard Andrea gasp when hers was taken—before dashing back inside. With that, the hooded figure let go of Merle and quickly took five large steps back before gesturing toward the door.

Merle went in with his arms raised. Andrea passed Daryl strode toward the door. Daryl shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the hooded figure—a woman—and stepped into the building.

* * *

The corridors were tight and dark; the only light came from the thin spaces between wooden planks that barred the windows. Merle stumbled in the darkness, tripping over whatever was on the ground. The man was grumbling about escape routes that could serve as death traps. Andrea followed slowly behind with fists clenched and a determined stride. Daryl brought up the rear with something sharp poking his back. At the end of the hall, there were two bright rectangles of light, two doors.

"Left."

When Merle turned into the light Daryl stopped hearing footsteps. His legs took less steps and larger strides. Within seconds he was behind Andrea, who was about to turn into the light. She stepped inside the brightness and he followed just behind.

It was a large room, with mannequins that were still standing, with clothes and jewellery that weren't pilfered, tables that weren't knocked over. To the side, was the padded figure, a young boy with brown hair. Standing in the middle were two girls and a boy. And in the back was a figure sitting on the ground.

"Amy!" Andrea yelled with her arms raised.

The figure on the ground turned and her eyes opened wide. Amy stood up and ran, arms outstretched, ready to catch her sister. "Andrea!"

They met in the middle with tight squeezes and whispers of disbelief. Amy was sobbing into Andrea's shoulder, rubbing her face side to side to get the tears out of her eyes. Daryl grumbled at the intense reunion, wondering if such a reaction would be possible when he returned to that fancy ass apartment. Proclamations of love and missing one another were soon spouted and Daryl suddenly felt sour. He turned away and landed his eyes on the first thing he could find—his brother.

"The fuck you lookin' at?" Merle shrugged, hands in his pockets. "You're barkin' up the wrong tree."

Daryl shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, mimicking his older brother. "Thanks."

"So what's the plan?" one of the other girls asked, a brunette. She was young and had a familiar twang. "How are you getting us out?"

The hooded figure unveiled her face. Long dreads fell to her shoulders. "I'm sure you know Amy. That's Maggie. Beth. Jimmy. And that's Randall. They're from beyond the Clear." The boy waved at Daryl. "I'm Michonne."

"Dixon." Daryl gestured to each of them. "Daryl. The sourpuss is Merle. That over there's Andrea."

Michonne led Daryl and Merle into a back room, presumably where people used to congregate during breaks. There was a toaster filled with cheese droppings and other unidentifiable wastes. On the table were maps in marker, of the different streets and buildings. In the corner of the room was a stack of weapons, a few pipes and a baseball bat. On a far table were computer screens and other pieces of hardware Daryl wasn't familiar with.

"Looks like you're organized," Daryl motioned to the table.

"Know our way around but not our way out." Michonne pointed at an intersection between a ketchup stain and a used napkin. "They're getting close. Doing a clean sweep. Tearing buildings apart."

"Walkers?" Daryl asked, kicking Merle in the shin. Merle took his eyes off Michonne and frowned at Daryl, mouthing racist remarks. Merle rolled his eyes at the irony of a Black female wielding a Japanese sword.

"No," Michonne pressed her lips thin. "Some gang. Doesn't matter. Amy says you have an escape plan."

"We've got an RV and a car in the City. Enough room for all of us. Just have to rendezvous with some people first. They're waiting at a safehouse." Daryl placed his hand on the table, generally directing Michonne in the direction of the underboss' lair. "Around here somewhere."

A loud voice interrupted the conversation. "Do you want me to give them their guns back?" Randall poked his head in the room with an impish grin. When Michonne nodded, the boy entered, striding toward Daryl and Merle with their guns in his hands. Randall placed the weapons on the table, taking the time to put one in front of each brother—the handgun in front of Daryl, the rifle in front of Merle—and walked out of the room just as slowly.

Michonne eyed the door. She spoke five minutes later, whispering under her breath. "I don't trust him."

* * *

Michonne gathered their supplies, assigning the weapons and supplies to be carried by different people—an axe for Jimmy, a pair of knives for Maggie, a lead pipe for Randall, and a bat for Beth. Jimmy checked the nearby alleys with Merle. Randall scouted the neighbourhood for crazies. Maggie and Beth took inventory, packing necessities, such as food. Daryl spied Maggie sneaking in pairs of clean underwear from the lingerie section.

Daryl planned the route, the journey back, based on Michonne's maps and Glenn's. He took out the paper Glenn drew on, and ran his thumb along the surface, sighing as he placed it down onto the table. Although a few of the details differed between the two—such as which blocks were filled with walkers or which buildings were to be avoided—but it was apparent that the same streets were to be avoided.

"Can't wait to get back, huh?" Merle said from the doorway. His brother was leaning against the door's frame with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face. Daryl stuck up his middle finger and turned back to the maps and continued to compare them. "No, Daryl. Fuck you." But Merle didn't leave. He sniggered instead. "You're the one who likes it up the ass!" Daryl rolled his eyes.

They left at nightfall. Michonne led the way, brandishing her katana in the moonlight, slashing stray walkers in pieces, cutting limbs off with ease. Daryl followed behind her, with Andrea and Merle bringing up the rear—much to Merle's dismay. Merle had wanted to lead the mission, arguing that everyone obey his every command, but was outvoted by both raised hands and weapons. The others stayed in the middle. Jimmy was holding Beth's hand. Maggie trailed behind Daryl. Daryl could hear Randall mumbling something to himself, or perhaps to Maggie.

It was getting colder, Daryl knew. Summer was probably coming to an end. Fall threatened to come early with a cool breeze. Daryl tried not to shiver when he felt the brisk gust against his skin. He heard someone's teeth chatter somewhere behind him. Although the moon hung overhead, they trudged on in the darkness, using small flashlights to light dark corridors, only when absolutely necessary.

Bodies littered the streets. Daryl watched as Michonne moved, sidestepping around corpses on the ground, prodding them with her blade before she passed them. When they were in an alley, Daryl accidentally kicked a pile of bones, sending them clacking down the pavement. The group shuddered in response, thrusting their bodies against the walls, trying to blend in the dark in case an onlooker spotted them.

A sense of relief filled Daryl when they entered the building through a side door—one that Glenn showed Daryl before they left. He smiled to himself. It was small, tight, forcing them to walk single file. The hallways were dark and unlit, par for buildings in the Old City. Something rolled on the floor ahead, causing an echo to reverberate in the walls. Michonne and Daryl turned on their flashlights, aiming it in every direction only to find empty cartridges and bullet shells on the ground. Daryl gasped when he felt breasts press into his back.

"Why did you stop moving?" Maggie asked from behind him. Following her statement, he heard the others pipe up. Beth was worried about standing in once place too long. Jimmy wanted to keep moving. Randall wasn't sure if they should keep going. Amy asked if they should regroup. Andrea wanted to know what was going on. After his initial outburst of "Why the fuck we stoppin'?" Merle told Daryl to stop being a pussy and to get a move on.

Michonne silenced them with a loud shush before bending to the ground. "Looks like there was a fight."

Daryl pressed his lips thin, nodding with her observations. He flashed his light ahead. "Bullet holes in the walls." Many of them. An automatic rifle.

"It's quiet," Maggie supplied from behind his shoulder.

Michonne stood. "Must be over. Or maybe they're waiting. What's inside here that's so—"

That's when it hit Daryl. He swerved around Michonne. He raised his gun and dashed forward, ignoring the calls of the people behind him. He treaded lightly, treaded quick, taking the steps two at a time, leaping upwards as quickly as he could. The further into the building he went, the more damage he saw. The walls were torn into by bullets and blades alike, leaving holes in the walls. There were blood spatters and bodies. The smell of death loomed around him. But Daryl trudged onward, taking quick glances in every direction to make sure he wouldn't be killed before he reached his destination.

When Daryl reached the right floor, he stared down the hallway to see the apartment door on the ground, its hinges torn off the frame. In seven large steps he was there, standing at the doorway. His jaw dropped when he saw the upturned furniture, the papers that scattered the floors. Quickly, Daryl ran to the bedroom and saw the bed. Its sheets were stained with blood and torn into with large cuts in every direction. And sitting innocently on the pillow, Daryl found Glenn's hat.


	24. Another Sad Day

"No!" Daryl yelled hoarsely, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. "No!"

The stampeding footsteps alerted Daryl to the others' presence. Daryl clenched his fists and kicked an unfinished can of fruit salad into the dying fire. He reached out and grabbed the cap, holding it tightly in his grasp.

When he felt a hand clasp on his shoulder, Daryl spun around. Merle was there, standing a few feet away from him with a solemn look on his face. Daryl held back a sob, closing his eyes, trying to ignore the prying eyes behind his brother. He stiffened at the squeeze his brother gave him.

Somewhere behind Merle, Andrea asked heartbreakingly, "Where's Glenn? The kids? Rick?"

"Glenn?" Amy added. Slowly following, choruses of his name came from everyone's mouths. From Maggie's. From Randall's. From Jimmy's. From Beth's. Worried looks spread across their faces.

"Glenn?" Michonne stepped forward and looked at the hat in Daryl's hand. She opened hers, as if she thought Daryl would hand it to her. But he didn't, he took a step back, breaking free from Merle's grip, and held onto the hat tighter. It was the only thing of Glenn left.

"You." Daryl raised his gun at her face, releasing the safety. Other than Andrea, Michonne was the only one who knew the location of the apartment. Michonne gave Daryl a doubtful look. "You knew. You were the only one who knew."

He stared harshly at her, scanning her face for any signs of weakness or doubt. Her hands didn't tremble; they hung still at her sides. The weight of the gun began to wear on him, feeling heavier and heavier in his grasp. His finger twitched, aching to pull the trigger, aching to send a bullet through her skull. Her eyes darted back and forth, between the gun's barrel and his face, as if she was trying to see if he had the balls to shoot her. Daryl gritted his teeth, running the numbers in his head, calculating those odds of happily ever after. He killed people before, but they had been on the brink of death, of rebirth, of reanimation. When Daryl was about to decide, he hears another gun cock.

Daryl's head snapped in the direction of the sound. Merle stood a few feet away from Michonne with his rifle aimed at her chest. "Outta here. All you little shits." He snarled when they didn't move. He turned his gun at the rest of them. "Git!"

They left one by one, at a painstakingly slow pace. The kids went first, the girls, then the boys. Andrea stood behind Michonne, who looked like she didn't want to leave. So Merle waved his gun, gesturing for Andrea to go. But before she did, she reached out for Michonne's arm and squeezed it reassuringly. Daryl glared at Andrea until the bitch went out the door.

Merle laughed, "Can't do nothin' for yourself lil' brother. Always need good ol' Merle to do everythin' for you, you little shit."

Michonne spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable slowly. "Let me see the hat."

"Why?" Daryl hissed, retracting the arm that held the red cap.

"It belongs to Glenn, right?" she slowly brought her hand out once more. Daryl nodded begrudgingly. "He wouldn't leave without telling why. He wouldn't leave it his hat if he didn't have a reason." Regretfully, Daryl brought his hand toward her, and let it go. She nodded gratefully and began to examine it, turning it over and running her fingers over the fabric. He pressed his lips thin, waiting for whatever it is she wanted to say. The longer she felt up the hat, the more he became uncomfortable. "There."

Opening the small flap of fabric inside the cap, she pulled a small strip of paper out and unfolded it. She took a quick look and shook her head, confused. She handed it over to Daryl. He took it and saw tiny scribbles in marker.

_You were supposed to snipe them down. This time do as I say._

* * *

After shoving the cap into his bag, Daryl strode out the bedroom. The rest of the group was sitting, scattered in the main room with solemn looks. He felt their eyes on him as he stomped past his brother, who was leaning against the far wall with crossed arms. Daryl stepped out of the door, taking in a deep breath. He walked by them, hoping they wouldn't ask what was happening or where he was going.

"Wait here," Daryl commanded gruffly.

Halfway out of the apartment, he heard Amy call out. "What about Glenn?"

"I'll come with you," Andrea offered.

Daryl brushed her proposal aside with the shake of his head and continued to walk. "I'm better off alone."

* * *

He moved quickly in the dark, staying low and out of sight, dodging walkers when he could, only killing them when he had to fight. He avoided the people, the hunted and the hunters, at all costs. He jogged, treading lightly, trying not to make a sound. He stayed close to the walls, far from the roads, and hid behind large objects when he heard clattering echoes and piercing wails of fatalities.

Scanning his surroundings, Daryl compared what little he remembered about the city's layout to where he was. He recognized the shops with no front windows, the ones with shards of glass shattered on the streets. And the street from where Glenn gave his first set of directions, the ones Daryl ignored, choosing instead to follow him into the alley, where they were cornered by walkers. A fond feeling overwhelmed Daryl, so he turned, closing his eyes for a few seconds, and then headed down the street.

He made his way down the road, hopping over bodies with missing limbs, sidestepping chunks of flesh that oozed blood. When he reached the park, he saw three bodies slumped over something in the middle of the grass, gnarling, chewing, devouring. Daryl slipped by, travelling behind the gridlocked cars, ducking so his head wouldn't be seen through the windows.

The red brick building was four stories high, the only red one on the road. He climbed up the stoop to see its front door was broken. A piece was broken off where the knob used to be. Surprisingly, it was closed. Daryl raised his gun, flicked on his flashlight, and pushed. With a loud long creak, it opened. The sound echoed loudly, so Daryl slid inside when he could fit and stopped the door from moving any further.

It was a skinny hallway with a wooden pattern on the walls, an ugly ass rug, and a small table. On it, there was a phone. There were different doors with different numbers. He found a room with a pair of rotten bodies inside. Possibly death by starvation. In another, he found a body hanging from the ceiling. The floorboards creaked as he climbed up the stairs, flashing the light into the darkness above.

He climbed, higher and higher, until he reached the fourth story. There were no more stairs to climb up, so Daryl searched the rooms for a way up. The first and second were empty, ceilings bare except for the dead bulbs that stuck out from the walls. The third, was a room with a glass ceiling, a child's room, with a ladder etched into an incline. He climbed and found a knob on one of the glass panes. He turned it and went outside.

Daryl cursed when he was on the roof. He was half expecting Glenn to be there, waiting for him to return, but it was empty. He clenched his feet and stomped on the ground, looking around for some sign, any sign that Glenn was there at all. Daryl muffled a sound with a fist over his mouth, trying not to believe he was abandoned but he heard the growl that stemmed from the back of his throat.

He was in the middle of rubbing his eyes when he saw something to his left. There was something on the corner of the roof, hidden in the darkness. Daryl took a step forward, then another. It was too small to be a body. He raised his knife, ready to strike but he sobbed when he shined his light on it, for sitting there was something he thought he lost—an extension of himself—his trusted weapon, his crossbow. With arrows.

Daryl reached out hesitantly, as if it would disappear as soon as he touched it. But it didn't. He smiled smugly, chuckling to himself, thinking of the stupid kid. He clasped hard when he felt the familiar grip, eyes scouring for any broken pieces or missing parts. At first he didn't see it. He had to run his fingers on it again to realize something was sketched on the handle. Two letters.

_RV_

* * *

Daryl's jaw dropped when he didn't see the car. Only the Winnebago remained, parked where it was left. The clomping of footsteps stopped when they saw the long vehicle. Amy cheered from somewhere behind him, squealing until she received a few shushes from Merle. Andrea unlocked the door and Daryl rushed inside, looking for Glenn, Sophia, Carl, or even Rick. But he found none of them.

"They're not here," Daryl said, facing the windshield. He slid onto the chair and strapped himself in.

"They must have taken the car. The one you took with Rick to get here." Andrea sat on the driver's seat, stuck the key into ignition, and asked, "Any idea where they went?"

"No." Daryl crossed his arms, looking straight ahead. "Let's get outta here."

She turned the key and stepped on the pedal.

The drive was mostly quiet. The kids settled in at the back and Merle didn't seem to be making much noise. Daryl was surprised when his brother agreed to come. Merle mumbled a half-assed reason for his presence, insisting that he was in it for the guns and only the guns, nothing else. Although he often drifted to sleep, Daryl woke a short while later with a gasp or a frustrated look on his face.

"You're worried," Andrea noticed. When he lifted his head, he saw her reach over and place a hand on his shoulder. He shuddered from the touch and edged away from her hand. She gave him a reassuring nod before turning back to focus on the road. "Sophia will be okay. Glenn's with her. So is Rick."

Daryl bit the inside of his lip and nodded briskly. With a husky breath he replied, "Y-yeah."

"I know where they are." Michonne appeared in the rear view mirror, making her way toward the front of the vehicle. She handed Daryl a book. "Found it in a book on the side table called  _The Case of the Missing Man_." Daryl wondered the relevance of a mystery novel. "Glenn wouldn't lead us here without telling us why. It's a book about someone missing. Books have endings; the mystery would be solved. The last page has something scribbled on it."

Daryl eyed the words and numbers, which indeed were written in the kid's familiar marker scrawl. He huffed smugly. "Coordinates."

* * *

Amy found the road on one of Dale's maps. The tiny street was situated in a small housing development nearby some woods. When Andrea's eyes began to close tiredly, Amy ended up taking control of the wheel with Merle barking out directions in between obscene depictions of his sexual escapades. Daryl sat on the floor in the middle with his bag open in his lap and he gazed longingly at the silly red hat.

They ran out of gas when they reached the Burbs. Daryl kicked the side of the vehicle as everyone took their positions. Andrea scouted from the roof while the rest searched nearby cars for any gas. Merle knew tricks from his childhood and snickered that he learned it while trying to rip a guy off, to take his bath salts or something. His buddy was chatting the guy up while Merle siphoned gas from his car. Merle ran from the scene with a small bag of drugs and a bloody nose. So that's what he did. They were on the road again when just after the sun rose.

Pulling into the neighbourhood, Andrea told them to keep a watchful eye. Peering out the window, they noticed broken windows, many walls that appeared to be pierced by bullets, and a driveway covered in almost dried blood. Drag marks indicated that something was dragged away. Bodies, most likely. The door was broken down and a puff of smoke escaped one of the side windows.

"This place looks like it's been taken over." Amy gagged, turning away from the sight. Beth rubbed a hand on her back.

Merle chuckled. "C'mon Sweet Thang, ain't you from the Zone? You've seen the likes of that before." Amy shook her head, covering her mouth with a hand. Merle rolled his eyes. "Pussy."

"What's the house number?" Maggie asked, looking out the windows. "Evens on the left. Odds on the right."

Daryl was about to tell them the number but he saw a familiar house, the one where Glenn took the car from, the one with boarded doors and windows—except neither weren't boarded anymore. Daryl repressed a gasp, scowling instead. And the garage was open. "Stop!" he yelled. "This is the place."

"You didn't even see the number," Merle complained.

"Been here before, dumbass." Daryl snapped. When Andrea stepped on the breaks, he swung the door open and jumped out. "Check the garage!"

He loaded his crossbow and paced around the side of the house. The insides were trashed from what he could tell, furniture thrown around. A table on its side. A broken chair. A toppled shelf of some sort. Gritting his teeth, Daryl moved faster. The crunch of grass echoed in the small gap between the two houses. He bent over and crawled at each window, propelling himself forward with his elbows and his feet.

When he reached the fence, he hopped it, jumping into the backyard. The grass was a bit tall, but there were no weeds. Sitting in the middle of the yard was a pile of wooden dirt. When Daryl saw the blood, he knew. Someone was buried.

With all of his strength, Daryl kicked the back door open. It snapped open with a loud crack, flinging open, and slamming against the wall. Daryl walked in, bow raised, ready to fire. There was a scuffle, judging by the skid marks on the ground, a dustless place showed where a rug used to be. On the coffee table were wires and screwdrivers, a few screws and a metal panel.

In an upstairs bedroom, he found candles, many of them used and almost worn out; more wires here and there, scattered around; a thin blanket with a pillow in the corner; and written on the wall, beside the window, were squiggly lines leading upwards and at the top a small rectangle with six dots inside it. Daryl looked outside the window, stared into the horizon, and understood.

Daryl stomped outside and yelled for everyone to get into the RV, barking out directions, exclaiming they had no time to lose. Glenn was headed to the Domino Block.

* * *

They were halfway to the Domino Block when they saw the smoke from the distance. Amy pulled into a small dirt road and parked at the side. Merle complained, refusing to leave the RV. "Ain't no reason to go chasin' fires. Probably burnin' them walkers." But he was the first one out the door.

Daryl led Andrea, Michonne, and his brother through the brush, searching for the source of the smoke. He stepped on patches of dirt clear of twigs and fallen leaves, instructing the rest to follow him quietly. The closer they moved, the stronger the stench became. The odour of death invaded Daryl's nostrils, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. When they reached a large bush, they crouched behind it and heard a quiet sniffle.

"Did you hear that?" someone whispered from the other side.

"From over there," another voice said. Young. A child.

"We don't want to hurt you!" came the first voice. Rough, gruff. The sound of cocking guns resounded loudly. "Show yourselves!"

Daryl smiled, poking his bow through the leaves. "Grimes." He pushed through the foliage and smirked at the cop, who stood gun aimed directly at him. "Carl. Sophia." Holding hands. Behind them was a burning pile of flesh. Walkers.

"Dixon." Rick lowered his gun. "Andrea. And friendlies?" Rick reached out, offering a hand. Daryl stared at it, unsure, and kept his in his pocket. "So you found his clues," Rick said, somewhat surprised, as if he didn't expect them to make it out alive.

"Where's Glenn?" Andrea asked before Daryl could.

Rick shoved his gun back into its holster and pointed toward a tall tree. "Other side."

Daryl rushed toward the tree, taking large steps to reach Glenn, only to find him crouched over a man. Glenn had a cloth and was wiping the sweat off his brow. Glenn's shirt had spatters of blood, his mouth trembled with apologies. The man's arms were bound to his sides, a rope wrapped around him, tying him to the tree. He had a familiar face, scruffy and thin. The man coughed up blood and when Daryl saw the bite mark on his arm, he raised his bow.

But Glenn stood up and placed a hand on Daryl's bow, moving it to the side, shaking his head as he turned to look at Daryl. The boy was trembling, although Daryl wasn't sure it was because he was relieved. His shoulders were slumped, his feet were dragging, his lips thinned. There was a sadness in Glenn's eyes and in the way he carried himself. "You're here." Glenn did a quick once over on Daryl. "You're okay."

"Course." Daryl lowered his bow. Unzipping his bag, Daryl pressed his lips thin. "Got somethin' for you."

Glenn smiled half-heartedly, taking the hat from Daryl. "Thanks."

"You know this guy?" Daryl motioned to the man, tied to the tree, the man whispering that Glenn should go now before it was too late.

"Yeah," Glenn nodded. He put on his hat and lightly sniffled as he walked away. "He lived two doors down from you. His name is Jim."

* * *

"How'd you get out?" Daryl asked, looking at the rear view mirror. The car was cramped, smaller than the RV, but it was better all the same. Carl, Sophia, and Rick sat in the back, all of them snoring lightly. The Winnebago followed slowly behind them, with Andrea at the wheel and Michonne by her side.

Glenn pressed his lips thin and shook his head. "I was collecting your arrows when it happened." Daryl turned his head. A sad look spread across the boy's face. "When I got back to the apartment, it was trashed. I couldn't find their bodies. They were gone. Missing. But we had a meeting point in case something like this happened. So I left my hat, dropped off your bow, checked the location, found Rick and the kids, and drove back to the house. Rick said some fat guy led people there and they had to leave."

"But?" Daryl stared, listening intently, watching the expression on Glenn's face fall further into despair when he repeated his story.

"That's where they were hiding. That's why I didn't take you to there on our first run. And Jim. He, he's a mechanic. Jim was working on this thing, some device that emits sonic pulses. You know, to keep the walkers away. It was supposed to save lives. And I was helping him by finding him things he needed. I don't know how they found us. So he moved out into the Burbs." Glenn's lips quivered. "They, they. They came guns loaded. They wanted it. There were walkers. So we had to leave. We had to leave. But I froze. I froze."

Daryl didn't ask about the buried body. Instead, he reached over and clasped an arm on Glenn's shoulder. He squeezed. And all of a sudden, Daryl could tell, he saw Glenn's walls fall down. It was an unfamiliar feeling, a feeling of regret that pooled in his gut. So when Glenn pulled over to the side of the road, Daryl offered Glenn a cloth from his bag and gave him an awkward smile with the corner of his lips before forcing himself to stare outside the window.

They parked the car on the outskirts of the Borderlands and packed into the RV. Daryl growled, kicking Jimmy and Beth out of the bed in the back before pushing Glenn toward it. Glenn flopped onto the bed, pressing his face into the pillow, muffling his mouth with cotton. Daryl was hesitant at first, but the boy's anguished moans compelled him to reach out. Glenn was mumbling something about not being able to say something before it was too late, that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he never got to declare his affections. Daryl sat on the edge of the bed and patted the tuft of Glenn's hair, the cowlick, until the kid fell asleep.


	25. In The Clear

Daryl grumbled. He was tired, he was irritated, and he was looking forward to a good night's sleep. Stirring from his position, Daryl sat up straight to feel a warm breeze hitting his stomach. He was somehow on the bed, sitting up against the wall. And on his lap, was Glenn. Daryl reached out and stroke Glenn's hair once more, chuckling at the hair that stood up. He lifted Glenn's head off his lap and slid off the bed. A quick peek toward the front told him that no one was there. Daryl grabbed his bow, slung it over his shoulder, and took a step out the door.

To Daryl's surprise, they were parked a few miles away from the Domino Block, between a thick group of trees. Confused, Daryl returned inside the vehicle and searched for a message. He found one on the dashboard.

_Domino Block is surrounded_. _Travel by foot._

He turned when he heard a tired voice from the back. "Daryl?"

"Hey." Daryl stuck an arm out and pressed it against the wall, smirking at the sight.

"Where is everyone?" Glenn asked, stumbling toward him. His shirt was ruffled and when he lifted an arm to rub his eye, a small strip of skin was revealed. Smooth. Soft.

"No idea." Daryl nodded at Glenn. "Make yourself decent. We got some guns to collect."

* * *

"Need to make a pit stop." Daryl huffed. Glenn nodded.

Daryl noticed the settlement of people beyond the Clear. It was in a small lot surrounded by posts, tall boxes or stands where cops and others stood watch. The space between the posts was devoid of adults. Children ran around, playing in between tents, receiving hushes whenever they became too loud.

Daryl wondered where the parents were but his question was answered when he heard the screams. From on top of a small hill, he and Glenn saw the Domino Block surrounded by the massive crowd. Perhaps a hundred or more. But what Daryl wasn't expecting was it to be surrounded by humans. They screamed, demanding a safe harbour, somewhere safe to stay. Fists pounded on the thin mesh fence that surrounded the people from the six buildings. Inside the lot stood the Block residents, many with guns, threatening to shoot if anyone crossed the fence.

They kept their distance from the crowd, watching the two groups yell back and forth. Glenn asked one of the cops what was happening.

"Where the fuck have you been?" the cop spat. "Walkers broke through the Wall a few days ago. Our defences at the gate didn't stop them. They're still pouring through. Stupid Zoners won't share their buildings with us."

Glenn thanked the cop meekly. Daryl gave Glenn a look, but it Glenn only shook his head. He turned to Daryl. "Mind if we see Jack first?"

Daryl caved. "Sure."

* * *

Jack, upon seeing Daryl walk with Glenn toward the stall, gave them a warm welcome. She rushed out toward Glenn, took his hand in hers, and asked about the Old City, the trip, and his overall well being. Glenn somehow managed to summarize their ordeal, leaving out the parts where he was captured by the Vatos, when they broke protocol and went into Haven, about the part when Glenn's friend was bit. She said they made a good pair. When he was finished, Glenn reassured her that he was fine but gave her a weak smile.

"What's the matter?" Jack said, gesturing back to the stall.

But Glenn didn't move. He looked down to the ground and whispered, "I'm sorry." Jack spun around with a confused look, so Glenn repeated those two words. "I'm sorry."

She pressed her lips thin and shook her head. "Well, then. How about we get you your pay?"

Instead of waiting for them, she just moved forward, away from Daryl and Glenn. One of her hands moved from her side to her face and from the way her shoulders moved, she was stifling a sniffle. The other hand, was clenched tightly, shaking at her waist.

"C'mon," Daryl said, nudging Glenn with his elbow. And the kid moved. Even though his steps were low and his feet were dragging, he moved.

The transaction was quick. After explaining how this new gang has ties to Haven and that they were kidnapping people from outside the Zone, Glenn half-heartedly collected his guns from Jack, who passed them over the counter silently. She had a solemn look on her face, as if her world had been shattered. Daryl thanked her on Glenn's behalf and led him away. He didn't receive a sassy remark.

Beside Zombie Zone Express, it appeared that Fishin' For Gold was up for business once more. Amy was seated behind her stall, happily chatting with hunters as if nothing had happened, with Andrea of to the side, with her arms crossed, a warm look on her face, with Dale reading a book, eyeing the two of them from above the pages every once in a while.

Rick and Lori were hugging, with Carl squeezed in between them. She whispered furiously in her husband's ear, her hand grasping his arms tightly, as if she was scared to let him go once more. There were tears, Daryl noticed, tears that were shed from all three of them. They weren't sad, however.

Carol was hugging Sophia tightly, kissing her on the forehead. Carol waved at them as they walked by, smiling wholeheartedly. Sophia rubbed her face into her mother's stomach, wiping the tears away.

Just at the end of the field, Maggie, Beth, and Jimmy were chatting animatedly, discussing plans of going home just beyond the Clear. She raised an arm toward them and received a nod from Daryl.

And there was Glenn, who stumbled ahead of Daryl with his slumped shoulders, his green bag that sagged low on his back, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his eyes downcast. Daryl wanted to reach out and provide Glenn with what he thought he needed. But he didn't. Instead, he followed the kid, straggling behind, keeping an eye out in all directions as they made their way not toward the Domino Block, but toward the Clear.

* * *

Daryl said, trying to stop Glenn in his tracks. "The Domino Block is that way."

"Dude, we can't get in there," Glenn insisted. He continued walking down the road, heading toward the Wall. "Besides, I have some extra ammo at my place." Daryl stumbled. "I'm sure your brother wants some."

"Your place?" Daryl raised a brow.

"Yeah. I've got a place." Glenn huffed, walking briskly ahead. "Just 'cause you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't real. Now that I think about it, you've never been there before. It's pretty sweet."

"Where are we goin'?" Daryl asked, jogging beside Glenn.

"The Clear."

Daryl shot him a look and thought he should remind Glenn. "You know there are walkers out there, right?" Glenn nodded, like he didn't need to be reminded. "Gate's closed."

Glenn smirked before turning off the road, heading into a small patch of forest, a familiar one that Daryl knew all too well. They travelled through the brush, encountering the odd walker here and there. Daryl sniped them from afar, knocking them out with one blow. Glenn retrieved them, yanking the bolts out of the skulls. He handed them to Daryl, who wiped them clean with a cloth stuck to his waist.

They reached the towering structure after a few hours. Although Daryl wasn't up for it, he tried to keep Glenn talking, in order to make sure he didn't dwell on his loss. Glenn's responses were half-hearted, one-worded, and always given in monotone. He talked about how the leaves were turning red and orange, how he planned to survive the cold weather that was coming, how he was hoping for something he never thought he would have.

"Way to sound so obscure." Glenn rolled his eyes. Daryl chuckled. "What does that even mean?"

His feet stopped moving for a second, causing Glenn to stop, turn, around and call his name. Daryl looked up, quirked the side of his lip upwards, and continued to move. "Nothin'."

The Wall was taller than he remembered. Although the gigantic fence wasn't as tall as some of the buildings in the Old City, it was at least five times his height. He wondered how the fuck the government managed to put this into place. A tall perimeter outside the city up within hours of outbreak? Seemed sketchy at best.

"It should be just around here," Glenn said. "Somewhere." Daryl was about to drop to the ground but stopped when he saw Glenn on all fours. "I'll go first," he explained. "I've gone through he so many times before. This hole was practically made for me."

Daryl wasn't so sure. So he grabbed the back of Glenn's shirt and pulled upwards. "I don't think so, little man."

Glenn resignedly stood up. After a few minutes of squabbling, Daryl reluctantly conceded. Glenn smiled victoriously. "Okay. If there are geeks on the other side I'll knock them out before you squeeze under."

With that, Glenn dropped once more. He scampered quickly, away from Daryl's reach. He tossed his machete under and crawled after it. Daryl watched Glenn wriggle on his backside, trying to fit into the hole. Glenn's legs flailed wildly, spreading wide open and closing just as quickly. His jeans looked tight. Daryl stood, arms crossed, watching Glenn, waiting for him to reach the other side. When Glenn did, Daryl heard a muffled sound.

"What was that?" Daryl asked.

"How was the view on your end?"

Daryl dropped immediately with a smirk on his face. His bow went under first, followed by the bags and the guns. Scurrying underneath the wall, Daryl squeezed under. A rock dug sharply into his back so he repressed the flinch and pulled under. It was dustier than he remembered, so he closed his eyes. He was halfway through the hole when he felt a breath on his brow. A small smile threatened to grow on his face. Opening his eyes, Daryl saw not Glenn, whom he hoped it was, but a walker, one with a rotting disgusting face, one with skin that hung just loosely above his mouth, groaning above him.

He gritted his teeth, limbs flailing about. His bow was just out of reach, so Daryl used his legs to turn, dodging a bite to his ear. A quick lunge and Daryl managed to reach his weapon. He turned again, undoing the safety, and found an open mouth in front of his eyes. There were rotting teeth and gums that were black. A tongue with a dull metal stud. Daryl struggled, kneeing the walking corpse over and over again. He shot an arrow, piercing it in the gut.

An anguished groan came from the creature as it staggered, rolling onto the ground. It crawled, arching its neck toward Daryl, snapping its mouth. Suddenly, a foot flew by Daryl's face, slamming into the walker's shoulder. It flew backward, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. Glenn raised his machete high and brought it down. Splat.

"Thanks," Daryl mumbled, crawling out from the hole.

Glenn nodded. "No problem." He lifted Daryl's bow and Daryl saw Glenn's knuckles turn white. When Daryl wiggled his fingers, Glenn handed it to him. "I'm not letting anyone I care about die. Not anymore. Not if I can do something about it."

"Looks like you got some fight in you." Daryl smirked through the corner of his lips. "I like that." Glenn stared at Daryl in awe before shooting to look at the six bodies behind him. Glenn bent down and began to rummage through their clothes, poking at their pockets with his blade. Daryl gave a sly grin. "And yes, I enjoyed the view."

* * *

"And Jack?"

"Jacqui isn't that type of person." Glenn explained, leading Daryl through the empty streets. There were fewer walkers than Daryl anticipated, remembering hundreds of them came from beyond the Clear at least weeks ago. Most of them appeared to be either moving toward the Zone or away from Area S. A fond smile spread across Glenn's face. "She's nice. I like her."

"Mmm." Daryl licked his lips as he scanned the distance ahead. Glenn turned, often checking their backs. The silence was overbearing.

"So," Glenn began, stepping over a pile of bricks. "You said you did two other runs before. With who? Whom? Whatever. You know what I mean."

"Miguel. Took a bag of guns from Rick's place," Daryl recalled, tightening his grip around his bow. Glenn nodded, as if he was putting the pieces together, mumbling about how that made sense. "Kid's part of that Vatos gang. Those sons of bitches that took you."

"Yeah," Glenn sighed. "I didn't realize until it was too late. After I asked him to bring something—"

"To the guy in 201," Daryl interrupted. Glenn swallowed. "And then he put it together and ratted you out. So them Vatos pricks are tied to your gang." Glenn looked away, kicking a small rock down the sidewalk. "The gang that you were a part of."

Glenn smiled resignedly to himself as he stared at the ground. "Who was the other one?"

Daryl paused, standing in the middle of the street. The memory was fuzzy, from so long ago. The man who was slow, somehow more useless than Miguel. The man who told someone else he didn't trust Daryl. "Some old guy. His name was Scout."

Glenn froze, giving Daryl a confused look. "Scout? Don't know anyone named Scout. What'd he look like?"

"Old man. Wielder of butter knives." Daryl snickered to himself.

"Morgan." From the expression on his face, it appeared that Glenn realized something; that something incredible or unexpected had dawned on him, something that made sense yet he hadn't thought of. Glenn raised a finger and moved toward Daryl. "That means… you're the one. You're the guy. What was the package?"

Furrowing his brow, Daryl tried to remember that particular run, one of many since the walkers appeared. Daryl pressed his lips thin and closed his eyes. "Think the package was some kind of explosive. A hardcore Molotov cocktail or somethin' like that. Was meant to blow that place sky high. Wanted me to watch the pharmacist mix it."

"But how did you get it?" Glenn asked, voice filled with concern. "Scout said he asked for it but they didn't give it to him. So how did you get the package? Why did they give it to you?"

"Don't know." Daryl shrugged, unsure of what to say. "Just asked them for it."

"How, Daryl? How?" Glenn grabbed a fistful of his shirt and clenched the fabric tightly, with an intense look. "If it was an explosive and they gave it to you and wanted you to watch them mix it…"

Daryl averted his gaze, trying to look anywhere but into those deep brown eyes. He licked his lips and gulped. "I don't—" Daryl began, only to be cut off by another plea of how. "I just asked for it."

"What did you say?" Glenn demanded, leading Daryl into a broken building.

"Give it to me. No." Daryl looked down, nodding absently as he remembered. "Give me the stuff." Daryl could feel Glenn's grip loosen. He looked up and saw that Glenn froze with an expression of disbelief. Shock. Fear. "Didn't matter anyway. The thing was a bomb waiting to be mixed. Reached the hospital and found it fire. Paid me for the job. Guess they wanted me dead."

"No," Glenn shook his head grimly. He clenched his fists and stormed down a hallway, swinging his machete wildly. "They didn't want you. They thought you were someone else."

"Who?" Daryl followed closely behind, intently looking at Glenn.

"That phrase. Someone I know uses that exact phrase. Someone I know uses that exact phrase to pick up packages."

"Anyone I know?"

"Yeah," Glenn nodded, gulping loudly.

"Just spit it out, kid." Daryl said, following Glenn into a room.

And then Daryl shifted his gaze from Glenn's backside and realized where he was. He was in that room where he holed in all those months ago, locking the guy out of his home; the one where he found the food and that machete—that hooked machete that seemed all too familiar but could never tell where it was from—the room where he overheard Scout, no, Morgan, speaking to someone he couldn't see. Daryl froze when he realized who lived here: the best runner of Zombie Zone Express, the boy who delivered pizzas, the kid with the silly red hat. When Glenn turned, Daryl saw the panic on his face.

"Me." Glenn trembled, his hands shaking at his sides. "They wanted to kill me."


	26. The Domino Block

Daryl stood in disbelief, staring at Glenn, who shook his head repeatedly. The latter was mumbling off on some tangent about his past and reasons why he would be on someone's hit list. Glenn paced in front of the couch, gesturing as pieces of his life after the walkers spewed from his mouth. It seemed that there was no clear-cut answer and they were burning daylight. Daryl had to find Merle before he vanished once again. But Daryl remembered that Glenn said he would send Scout, no, Morgan, a signal, if Daryl was not to be trusted.

"You burnt the hospital to the crisp."

"No!" Glenn denied vehemently. "It was already on fire when I got there. People were running around with flames on their backs. The least I could do was find someone who needed help."

"And you chose Rick," Daryl assumed.

A look of confusion spread on Glenn's face. "Yeah, that's right. I found him walking in the hallway, with this look on his face, like he hasn't seen a walker up close before. He was the only one I could get." Glenn sniffled. "Out of all of them, he was the only one." Daryl wasn't sure how to react. He looked at Glenn and waited for him to speak. Finally, Glenn said, "You've been there before? The hospital?"

Daryl nodded. "Once. Just passin' through. Lookin' for Merle. Found Rick instead. Still in a coma back then." Daryl shook his head, chuckling. "You know, my first job for Jack, I ended up takin' a bunch of gun's from Rick's?"

"Yeah," Glenn laughed lightly. "Shane was very pissed about it. Wouldn't stop flinging his fists around. Dude's pretty stacked."

Daryl took the opportunity to change the topic. "So you live here?" Daryl asked, looking around. "Nice digs."

Glenn stopped rambling and stood up straight, looking at Daryl. "It's just a place I stay in between runs. Just an apartment, not a home." Glenn slumped and looked at the couch indifferently. "It's been… A while since I've been home. Surrounded by the ones you love. I miss that. I miss them."

Daryl spoke, his breath ragged, "I got a home—"

Glenn gave Daryl a look. "The Domino Block?"

"Once. I got a home once." Daryl shook his head. "Before all this." He bit his lip as the memories flashed through his mind. "Was broken. Ain't much love. But it was mine."

Glenn gave him a small smile and began to rummage underneath the couch cushions. He pulled out a few bottles of pills, an unopened box of glow-in-the-dark condoms—Daryl smirked at that—and a small can of gas, the type that can be attached to a portable grill.

Daryl stifled the urge to laugh when he saw Glenn struggled to lift the cushions up. He sauntered over, flexing his biceps, and grabbed onto the leather cushions. However, lifting it wasn't as so easy as he thought. With Glenn's assistance, he managed to pull one side up only a few inches before dropping it back down.

"What the hell do you have in here; bricks?" Daryl grunted exasperatedly to which Glenn replied with a shrug.

Instead of lifting it, they opted to slide the cushion out instead, pulling it until it clunked onto the ground. Sitting on the floor with his legs spread wide, Glenn unzipped the sides and indeed pulled out a few bricks. Daryl hovered above his thighs. "What?" he chuckled. "Keeps people guessing. Keeps the goods safe." After he pulled out a few bricks, Glenn's eyes opened wide. He beamed and retrieved a few boxes of bullets. "This your size? And, yes. Before you ask again, I took a peek." Glenn wiggled his brows.

Daryl yanked the box from Glenn's hand and pulled out his gun with the other, placing them side-by-side before giving him a knowing look. "Well I'll be. Should fit just fine."

"Good." Glenn nodded, satisfied. He handed Daryl another box. "And these should fit for your brother."

Daryl shot him a cold look. "What, you peek at his gun too?"

Glenn laughed, brushing it off. "Duh. Have to see what he's working with before I can help him out."

Taking the box, Daryl moved and stepped on the kid's toes. "You best keep away from him. If you know what's best for you. You're  _my_  partner." Daryl turned to face Glenn, looked down, and smirked. "Only helpin' me out. Got that?"

"Okay! Okay!" Glenn begged painfully, wiggling his leg back and forth in an attempt to get Daryl off him, before he swatted Daryl on the knee. Daryl flinched at the touch and glared as Glenn's hand moved up his leg, toward his thigh. "What? Don't you want my help?"

* * *

A few playful punches later, Daryl found himself following Glenn. He lingered a short distance behind, making sure to watch Glenn's ass and his own by checking his back. Glenn hobbled forward, with his green bag riding up and down his back and his machete in one hand and his other pulling up his jeans.

"Invest in a belt," Daryl suggested. "Don't want walkers to claim your ass, do you?"

"Dude," Glenn snickered. "They're going to grab at my flesh, not my jeans."

When they reached the hole in the Wall, the corpses they have slain attracted a few flies. Glenn muttered that maybe they should have moved the rotting things, to which Daryl gave a sharp nod. Glenn gagged then plugged his nose. Daryl balked at the smell also.

"You'd think we'd be over the smell by now," Glenn said, putting his machete back into its case. Without taking it off, Glenn unzipped his bag and placed the blade inside. Daryl was amazed by how flexible his arms were, thinking about it thoroughly until he was snapped out of his daydream. Daryl looked and found Glenn lifting a pair of legs, tilting his head toward the arms of the walker. "Hey. Care to help?"

Daryl sighed, slung his crossbow over his shoulder. He sauntered over to the head of the walker, kicking it twice to make sure it was dead, and grabbed the arms. "Where to?"

Glenn quickly scanned their surroundings before nudging toward an abandoned building. "There. Can't leave them around here or it might draw attention to the hole."

They worked quickly. Silently. Daryl would have preferred incessant rambling to the quietness coming from his partner. Two walkers ambled by and Daryl decided not to wait for them to pass, sniping them down with his bow, increasing their load by two bodies. They moved the bodies quickly, efficiently, with Glenn tripping over his own feet only twice.

Finally, when they finished, Daryl piped up, "Hungry?"

Glenn licked his lips. "Yeah."

Daryl managed to catch two squirrels. He skinned the creatures, explaining how to do it to Glenn, who seemed fascinated with the process, oddly enough. Glenn shrugged his shoulders, explaining that if they ever ran out of canned stuff, he wanted to know how to catch other things. After finding a small clearing in the woods, they warmed the bodies on sticks, roasting the flesh over a small fire. Daryl licked his lips at Glenn's semi-disgusted face when he ate the stringy meat. Glenn looked like he choked on his meat. Daryl called him out on it.

Clenching his fists, Glenn dropped his stick and stomped off between the trees. With a smirk on his face, Daryl watched Glenn walk away while listening to the claims of needing to piss. Glenn came back with ruffled clothes, a leaf stuck in his hear, a big grin on his face, and a rabbit with a giant gash in its head.

Daryl taught him how to skin that too, guiding the knife in Glenn's hand. He was crouched behind Glenn, who seemed to shiver at the touch. Glenn gave him a shocked look but Daryl brushed it off and forced Glenn to continue slicing. Although Glenn had the enthusiasm to learn, he sucked. Badly. Ended up cutting half the meat off with the fur.

When they were finished, Daryl stood up and adjusted his pants. "City boys." he scoffed. "Can't do anything right."

* * *

Glenn was in the middle of describing his previous jobs to Daryl; how he used to work for Amy at her stand before going over to help Jacqui, how he delivered packages of all shapes and sizes.

"So why did you go to the warehouse?" Daryl asked suddenly. "That where you got mine?"

Glenn shuddered and looked like he was caught masturbating by his parents. "W-what?"

"Did I stutter?" Daryl retorted. "My hot slice. 'Cept she ain't that hot to begin with."

"Yeah," Glenn rubbed the back of his neck, stepping over a pile of fallen leaves. "She had walkeroids. So glad you didn't tap that."

"Who says I didn't?"

"Uh, she did? What? I had to bring her back to the warehouse." Glenn paused, gripping a small branch tightly. "Didn't think she was your type."

Daryl shrugged, walking past him, bow in hand. "Wanted somethin' else on the menu. You showed up, but didn't deliver." Somewhere behind him, he heard Glenn gasp and spout nonsense. Daryl smirked, keeping his face forward.

Leaves crunched as they walked together through the woods, making their way back to the Hunter's Helm. There were more walkers than either of them remembered, and somehow Glenn took out more of them than Daryl did. Glenn smiled smugly, ringing his kill count up by another five.

The Hunter's Helm was surprisingly empty. There were fewer stalls than usual, many with little to no customers. Even Zombie Zone Express seemed to draw in no customers. Daryl asked around and received shaking heads and unsure answers. Glenn, although he asked the same things, managed to get a few hints from a few vendors who seemed to be a bit too chummy with him.

"Everyone's out doing jobs," Glenn informed. Daryl knew that a surge of walkers had come from Area S prior to his trip with Rick to the Old City. Sure, he knew that the defence at the gate fell through, which could only mean that walkers are invading the Borderlands from both sides. "And the people from the Clear are looking for somewhere new to stay."

Daryl rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Glenn didn't dwell on this fact. Instead, he jogged off toward Fishin' For Gold, happily waving at Amy and Andrea, both of whom sat there looking bored. Amy was reading her magazine.

"I've read this thing so many times," she groaned. But an idea flashed in her mind. "Hey, how do you think Hollywood is holding up?"

Glenn's face lit up and he began an animated discussion on how some celebrities probably have secret hideaways underneath their homes.

Andrea gave a fond look at her sister before turning toward Daryl. "Hey. I never got to thank you, did I?"

Daryl angled his head toward Glenn. "Didn't thank him either." He unzipped his bag and handed a box of ammo to her. "Here."

With a confused look, Andrea stared at the box. "Why?"

"You watched over him. In the Old City." Daryl said nonchalantly. "Made my job much easier."

"How's that?" Andrea asked, tipping her hat up.

"He's my partner," Daryl began. He tried not to clench his jaw when Andrea raised an eyebrow. It suddenly became quiet and Daryl could feel three pairs of eyes on him. He shifted his glance for a second, focusing on his peripherals and saw Glenn and Amy with their mouths open, the former with a hopeful look on his face. "For runs and stuff. You know? For Zombie Zone Express." Daryl motioned toward Jacqui.

"Right." Andrea said, sounding somewhat unconvinced. Amy, however, nodded in understanding, mumbling about how she should have known that they would have been paired up eventually.

"You know where my brother went?" Daryl asked.

Andrea gave him a confused look. "I'm not his babysitter."

Amy giggled. "He went to the Domino Block. Said he was waiting for a package."

"He's going to get himself killed," Andrea said, kicking back on her chair.

"Nothin' can kill Merle except Merle."

"Or maybe a huge mob of people."

* * *

Daryl ran. He moved quickly through the woods and clearings, keeping his eyes open for walkers and humans alike. Glenn jogged behind him, breath laboured, face sweaty, without complaints. Glenn's fingers tightly grasped his backpack's straps, as it was harbouring the only antidote. Daryl slowed his pace on the streets, not only to let Glenn rest, but to keep an eye out.

The crowd surrounding the Domino Block surged against the mesh fence, crowds of people pushing at it, tempted to knock it over and take the six buildings through force. The only thing holding them back were the Block residents holding guns and blades, threatening to hurt those who try to take their homes from them. His eyes raked through the crowd, searching for his brother, watching the cops be overpowered and pushed out, far from the fence.

"Merle!" Daryl yelled. He rushed toward the mob, bow raised high, searching for a familiar face. His cries were in vain because the two groups yelled louder, one demanding safe harbour, the other demanding to be left in peace. "Merle!"

He was a block away from the riot when he heard the clang of metal on the ground. Daryl felt his gut sink when he saw the people from the Clear push the small mesh fence down, and invade the Domino Block. They cheered, screaming, charging for the six buildings with speed.

Daryl was about to reach the back of the crowd when he heard someone scream, "Walkers. Walkers!"

"She's been bit!"

"Out of my way!"

His heart pounded when a gunshot rang in the air. But that didn't stop him from moving nor did it stop the people from the Clear. A body fell down but people still rushed forward, people of all ages and shapes and sizes, many of them, pummelling the body with pipes and bats. Daryl's jaw dropped, not when he saw a child get lost in the fray and become squished in the crowd, but when didn't stop at her piercing screeches. The crowd broke into a mad frenzy, many people rushing toward the apartments, many rushing away from the group.

Daryl spun around, bow ready to fire. He saw Glenn with his Machete raised, waiting for Daryl to move. He saw empty streets behind him. Ahead, was a group of people running his way. He jogged to the left, deciding to travel through alleys instead.

"Follow me," he huffed. Moving quickly, Daryl led Glenn through the streets and alleys surrounding the Domino Block, slaying stray walkers together, hiding from people, and hopping over rotting corpses.

"There are a lot of them," Glenn noticed as he drew his blade from yet another walker's skull. Daryl nodded gruffly. "Some of them don't look as rotten. Fresh. Like they recently turned."

"Don't really got time for this." Daryl huffed.

The Domino Block was in shambles. Flames spouted from the bottom of the fifth building as people rushed out, many carrying fire on their backs. The sixth building seemed to be holding up well, its front door barricaded with wooden planks, preventing anyone from going in or out. Daryl ran to his building, dodging a pair of walkers, and slammed his fist on the door.

"Open up!" he yelled. "Open the damn door!"

But it didn't open. Daryl stomped his foot on the ground, cursing. To his right, the second building was being overrun by people. Children and adults alike were being tossed and thrown everywhere. Cops raised guns at anyone and everyone who veered to close for them. Hunters growled, snarling at civilians.

Daryl was about to march toward the group, ready to bare his teeth to make a clear path but his snarl was cut off by a firm grip on his arm. He turned to find Glenn shaking his head. Glenn tipped up his hat and offered another option. He whispered, "I know another way in."

Daryl snorted. Of course he did.

* * *

Circling around the perimeter of the Block, Glenn led Daryl to the third building, the one where Dale and the girls set up residence. But instead of going down, into some secret passage that Daryl assumed would be there, Glenn hiked up the stairs and down hallways, pushing people aside while yelling he doesn't want to take a room from anyone. Daryl followed with a stern face, aiming his bow at anyone who veered to close to Glenn. When Glenn opened a door, Daryl was surprised to find sitting on a couch, with a rifle aimed at the door, was a face he saw many a time.

The surprised face, the one that annoyed him to no end, was before him once more. "Glenn?" Dale gasped before realizing that he had two visitors. "Daryl?"

"Dale?" Glenn panted, out of breath. As soon as they were in the apartment, Daryl slammed the door behind him, locking it shut. He turned, facing it, in case anyone wanted to barge in and claim this apartment for their own. Somewhere behind him, he heard Glenn ruffling through the old man's belongings. "What are you doing here? Weren't you just with the girls?"

"I snuck back in to check on something. I used the passage you—"

"No time! Need your help."

"Glenn, what are you? Why are you with him?" Dale stressed the last word, staring at Daryl.

"We're partners," Glenn explained hurriedly, speeding through his words. "Did a bunch of runs for Jacqui. Need a way to get to the other building ASAP."

"Then why are you here?"

"Alley's full of walkers and people now. We didn't see them coming. Can't take that chance. I need your tools. Got the Phillips?"

"Y-yeah."

Although Daryl wasn't sure what Glenn was doing, he knew that Glenn worked quickly behind him, tinkering with something that needed to be screwed. Sounds of exasperation and annoyance intermittently flew out of Glenn's mouth, much to Dale's disapproval. Within minutes, Glenn finished, and raised a metal wand in the air.

"It's a screwdriver," Glenn explained. "It sends out a sonic sound or something that repels walkers."

Daryl raised a brow. "That tiny thing? You're shittin' me."

Glenn rolled his eyes. He flipped a switch and shoved the thing in his bag. "No, I'm not. Jim made it. C'mon." Glenn stuck his arms in the loops and tightened his bag's straps. "Let's go. Dale? You coming?"

Daryl slowly opened the door, peering out both ways to see people from the Clear pounding on the door by the stairs, trying to knock them down. With his bow raised, Daryl slipped out the door. He tried not to tap his foot when Glenn didn't come out right behind him. The first door slammed inside with a man's strong kick. A group of people stormed inside, yelling and screaming, forcing the Latin family out. And with that, more people began to knock on the next door.

"Glenn," Daryl hissed under his breath. "Gotta get out of here. Now!" He sighed when Glenn came out and closed the door softly behind him. Glenn seemed disappointed. "The matter with you?"

"Nothing. Let's go."

"Dale?"

Glenn shook his head.

They zoomed down the stairs. People made way for Daryl when they recognized him was the crossbow hunter who shot down that mobster. Many of them were in awe of his presence, verbalizing their admiration of his actions. Glenn pulled his hat down and followed closely behind him. Sometimes, when Daryl stopped, Glenn pressed up against his back.

"Watch it," Daryl warned.

"I am."

Crossing the alley, Glenn raised his machete high, keeping his eye on the ground. Daryl looked at the windows, watching if anyone was waiting to snipe them down. Glenn led Daryl through the crowded alleys, hopping lightly in between people that moved every which way.

With one last glance, Daryl looked up to his apartment window. There was a shadow moving around, an oddly shaped head with little hair. Daryl's eyes opened wide when he realized it was his brother. But there was someone else there. There was another shadow. And another. That was all Daryl needed to push forward.

"Kick it up another notch," he said, passing Glenn, heading toward the fallen fence. "Where are we goin'? Don't you got a secret passage or somethin'?"

But Glenn passed him again, heading straight for the building. "While you were watching I saw people breaking into your building through the windows. It'll probably be faster to get in through there."

So that's where they went.

The first floor was littered with men that weren't killed. Daryl stooped down, placing his finger on some of their necks. "Still alive," he informed Glenn. "Must've been knocked out or somethin'."

Each room of the floor was opened. When they passed each one, they took a glance inside. In the first they found a family cowering in a corner, in the second they found a man on the floor, blood flowing out of his side, the third was empty, and the front room, the one where the landlord stayed, was broken into. Picture frames were tossed on the floor, tables were overturned and couches tipped over.

"Looks like there was a fight."

"Was dragged away," Daryl pointed out. "This way. Out the front door." A door which was pried open.

With his heart pounding, Daryl rushed up the stairs. Glenn was not far behind. Room 201 was still closed, the yellow police tape still hung on the door, apparently a good enough repellent to keep people away. He braced himself when he entered his apartment.

The cupboards were flung open, emptied of whatever food was left in them. The stool in the corner was turned over. Other than the bed and scattered white powder all over the floor, Merle's room was empty, devoid of any sign of his brother. Glenn called from his room, shouting that aside from the mess of clothes and the broken windowpane, it was clear. It was the springy living room couch that was left untouched.

"Merle!" Daryl yelled, storming out of his apartment. "Merle!"

Glenn mumbled something from behind him and ran down to the end of the hall, to where Jim used to live, leaving Daryl alone. A sudden clanging alerted Daryl's attention. He turned toward Room 201 with his bow raised. Daryl slowed his breath, trying to calm himself down. A loose grasp around the doorknob turned into a tight one and he flung the door open. With a quick search, Daryl found the main room to be empty.

Another clattering sound came from down the hall. Daryl turned, stepping lightly. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to fire. But when he turned into the bedroom, Daryl lowered his bow immediately. Merle was slumped on the floor, with his arm handcuffed to the bed. Blood leaked from a gash on his head. He rushed to his brother and cradled the head in his fingers.

"Stupid Darlena." Merle stammered, his head resting against Daryl's hands. "I always have—" Merle hacked up a cough. Daryl pressed a palm against his brother's chest, clutching the dirty shirt tight. "Have to do things for you. Can't even save me properly. Can't do anythin' right." With that, Merle closed his eyes and let out one deep breath.


	27. Reasons to Fight

"Who's that son of a bitch? Who's that son of a bitch that did this to you?" Daryl shook his brother, but received no response. To stifle the roar that stemmed from the back of his throat, Daryl but his lip.

Daryl turned around when he heard something rustle behind him.

"Friendly!" Glenn pleaded, with his hands raised high. With a quick snort, Daryl lowered his bow. "Have you seen Carol? Her apartment's empty. Sophia isn't there either."

The look of Glenn's face can only be described as worried. His eyes moved back and forth, as if he was searching Daryl for all the answers. But like Glenn, Daryl was not sure of what to do. He stood firmly, trying to think of something—like how to keep Merle safe until he sobered up and how to protect his apartment from anyone who wanted to take it. But he was stumped.

"Is he?" Glenn asked, leaning to his side, pointing at Merle.

Daryl snorted. "No. He's too stubborn to die by his own hands." Daryl shook his head at his brother.

"What?" Daryl shot up and smacked his head, trying to get Merle's voice out of his head. "You thought I was dead? Stupid Daryl. Can't do anythin' right."

Daryl looked down, meeting Merle's eyes. He immediately frowned when Merle flopped over with a smug look on his face. And that's when Daryl noticed white powder under his nose. He groaned, rolling his eyes at his brother. "You little fucker." Daryl rose and kicked Merle in the side. He clenched his fist and stomped off, knowing Glenn would follow.

Merle yelled when Daryl was fifteen paces away, "You kick like a girl!"

He looked back at Glenn and answered his question, "No idea where they are. Seems like anyone who lives here is either being held hostage or kicked out. Don't even think they made it in with that crowd around the fence."

Glenn sighed, relieved with Daryl's answer because that's what he originally thought too. Daryl left Room 201, hopping through the police tape, and instructed Glenn to close the door behind him. As soon as Glenn did, someone came rushing up the stairs from another building. He ran up, pausing on each level to yell that Building 6 was ready.

"For what?" Glenn asked to himself.

"They're movin' in." Daryl muttered. "Clears want the Block for themselves."

"Then we've got to do something!" Glenn exclaimed. "We can't just sit around here and let them take it from us."

Daryl sighed, walking into Carol's apartment. "This ain't our land."

"It isn't theirs either." Glenn followed with his arms outstretched. Daryl ignored his protests and scanned Carol's apartment for signs of struggle. "But it's where you live."

"They weren't here," Daryl said, pointing to the unsorted pile of clothes.

"Then we've got to find them. Warn them. We can't let them walk back in here and see that their home has been occupied by someone else."

Daryl stared at the window and watched a mob of people from the Clear rush toward Building Six. People were being trampled left and right. The walkers seemed to keep on coming from every direction, being reborn from the dead—even though they weren't getting bit. In the end, Daryl agreed to Glenn's idea. Daryl nodded, wondering if his home would be in one piece when he returned.

* * *

The escape from the Domino Block went better than expected. Daryl's notoriety as the crossbow hunter paved clear paths for him and Glenn. Walkers were more attentive to whoever was closer to them so the pair steered clear from any roaming corpse. Daryl was relieved when he saw Theo and a few of the other guards running away from the fallen fence. He could see Glenn's frustrated face so he asked him what was wrong.

"Man, we could've asked T if he saw them," Glenn replied. A forlorn look was on Glenn's face, as if he was contemplating lose-lose scenarios. "Hey, Daryl. Do you think they'll be nicer to Dale because he's old?"

"Can't say." Daryl stomped down the road, making his way back to the Hunter's Helm.

The Hunter's Helm was emptier than when they left it. The large clearing was only occupied by a few stalls, which were now closer than they were before. There were a few people around the perimeter facing outwards, on guard. The only stands that remained were Zombie Zone Express, Fishin' For Gold, a pair of weapons stands, and a stall bartering used goods and half-opened cans.

"I'll go ask Jacqui," Glenn said, rushing off to the stall. "Maybe she knows where they are."

That left Daryl to saunter up to greet Amy, who waved him over. "Hey, what's going on? All of a sudden Jack sent a few guys to drag my stall closer to hers."

"Seen Carol? Sophia?" She shook her head. Immediately, Daryl noticed that Andrea wasn't around. "Where's your sister?"

"She went back to the Block to check up on Dale. He said he'd be back a while ago." A stream of curses came out from Daryl's mouth. "What? What's going on?"

"The Block. It's… It's…" He stared into her eyes, which were beginning to well up with tears. Like she was expecting to finally hear the bad news. "It's been overrun."

She stiffened at his words. Amy gasped, covering her mouth with a shaky hand. Amy moved her head side to side in disbelief. "No. It can't be."

"The fence fell. Clears knocked it down."

"But this is the Borderlands," Amy cried, getting off her chair. "This isn't the Old City. People here aren't like that."

"People aren't people when their backs are up against the wall and got nowhere to go." Amy looked at him, searching his face for answers. "Last we checked he was fine. Locked himself inside his apartment."

That seemed to calm Amy down. "Did you see Andrea?"

"No. But she ain't stupid enough to go inside when there's a bunch of walkers and people runnin' around the Block. Probably snipe them off from a distance."

Amy pressed her lips thin and sat back down. She crossed her arms, staring at the ground, as if she was trying to make sense of something she never could.

"Hey," Glenn greeted. Amy didn't look up, only greeting him with a small whimper. A fond expression covered his face as he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "Andrea's a strong woman. She can whoop ass better than most of the other hunters in Area S."

"What if the walkers come here? To the Helm?" Amy asked.

"Stick close to Jacqui," Glenn suggested, pointing toward the other stand. "She'll watch your back."

Amy nodded hastily, biting her lip, agreeing too quickly. With that, Glenn marched off, moving a few feet away from her. Daryl followed, with his lips pressed thin. They traded what they learned. Daryl got nothing. Glenn somehow managed to scrounge up some dirt. Carol and Sophia were apparently with Rick's family. The attack on the Block was expected to happen since before Andrea and Glenn had left for the Old City.

"Apparently," Glenn whispered with a shaky voice. "It was planned. The whole thing. The walkers, the fence, the takeover. Everything."

* * *

"I'm sorry." Glenn stammered, rocking back and forth. They were sitting on the grass just a short distance away from Amy, eating a meal of overly sweet corn and bland chicken soup. Although Glenn offered to share his spoon, Daryl refused. Now, he was struggling to lick the can clean. "If I didn't get kidnapped, we could've found Amy earlier. Came back faster… I could've… Daryl, I—"

"Forget it," Daryl interrupted, shaking his head. He held his can out to Glenn and Glenn took it, smiling before handing his over. "It's just an apartment. Can be easily replaced. Ain't much of a home really."

"Are you sure we should just leave Merle there?" Glenn asked, his voice muffled by the semi-macerated food in his mouth. Daryl chuckled at the sight. "I mean, I'm sure I could have picked his lock. Might have taken a few minutes though."

Daryl told him otherwise. "Whoever locked him up probably would've came back. Merle's less likely to do shit while he's cuffed to a bed. Probably cuffed cause he was high. 'Sides, you're too skinny to carry him down the stairs."

Glenn was about to come back with a witty retort—Daryl could see it in his eyes— when the crunch of fallen leaves and grass alerted the pair of them. They immediately reached for their weapons, turning to the source of the sound.

"Hey, Daryl?" Rick called, with his hands raised to his shoulders. "I need your help."

He lowered his bow. "For what?"

"We're getting settled in at the Domino Block. Seems like the Zoners gave up their buildings when a bunch of walkers attached." From the tone of his voice, it seemed that Rick wasn't convinced with what he just said. Rick placed his hands above his belt buckle, a familiar position. "Need some help clearing the land out."

Daryl nodded. "What's the pay?"

"An apartment. Your pick."

"And what about Carol and Sophia?" Glenn piped up, drawing Rick's attention. "What about them?" He had an open look on his face but Daryl could tell by his voice that he didn't expect to hear no for an answer.

"They get one too. She tells me they already lived there, before it fell. Lookin' for a space, Glenn? Don't know if we're able to get you an apartment on your own but—"

Daryl abruptly stood up, cutting Rick off mid-sentence. "I'm sure we can work somethin' out." He raised the can of corn high and let the rest of the syrup drip into his mouth.

"Okay." Rick gave a small smile. "I just need to speak with Jacqui for a second before we head out. Gotta clear the place out by sundown."

"Need extra hands?" Glenn asked when Rick was about to leave. He stood up, kicking his can off to the side and brushing his hands on his jeans. After fixing his hat, Glenn raised his machete and stood beside Daryl to give Rick a determined stare. With a grim look, Daryl shook his head slowly.

The side of Rick's lip quirked—a smile but not really. "I think they might need some extra hands here. We're planning to move the Helm into the Block. Fix up the fence. Set up a watch."

"Oh," Glenn said. Daryl side-eyed him, noticing the slumped shoulders and the lips that trembled for just a quick second before they formed a thin line. "Okay."

Glenn scoffed when Rick left. "So, joinin' the cops, huh?"

Daryl gave Glenn a small smile. "Nah, I'm better off on my own."

Glenn snorted, rolling his eyes at Daryl. Daryl smirked at that. He watched as Glenn bent down and began rifling through his bag. It took a few short seconds, because it seemed that Glenn was not only searching for something, but was also sorting his belongings. Daryl raised his brow and shook his head when he saw what Glenn had in his hand.

"No," he refused when he saw the sonic in Glenn's hands. "You keep it."

"Take it!" Glenn demanded, stomping his foot. Glenn reached forward with his hand, but Daryl was too quick and took a few steps back. "Just take it!"

"No!" Daryl snapped, causing Glenn to stumble backwards. "Listen, kid—"

"Don't call me that! Dude, I'm not a teenager anymore."

"You need it more than I do," Daryl replied.

"Says the guy going to walkerpalooza," Glenn scoffed. Glenn moved forward again, this time grabbing Daryl's shirt firmly. Daryl jerked to the side but it seemed that Glenn wasn't going to let go without a fight. Daryl growled resignedly. With a small smile, Glenn offered, no, forced it upon him one more time. "I'm just going to be sitting here watching them pack up. Take it."

Daryl swiped the thing from Glenn's hands and stomped off with his bow on his back. "Fine. But you're carryin' my bag."

* * *

Not only was the Domino Block was surrounded by walkers but the sixth building was slowly being engulfed in flames. Rick, although he wasn't sure how, explained that they just multiplied and that the fire started a while back. The cop led Daryl through the alleys, pointing out different posts that were held by some of his deputies. Half of the Clear camp was wiped out in their attempt to claim an apartment, their screams still filling the air as they were devoured alive. The other half, Rick said, were waiting patiently on other buildings.

"Why don't you just go back to the Clear?" Daryl said, shuffling his feet quietly.

"What?" Rick gave him a steely look. "There are walkers out there."

Daryl shrugged. "They're in here too. It's called Zombie Zone for a reason."

A quick search for Andrea was fruitless. Rick shook his head, mumbling the worst. Daryl, on the other hand, thought she was alive, that she wouldn't be stupid enough to stay on the ground. She would snipe from a rooftop or a window. He was still unable to find her. The fact that no guns were being fired consoled his worry either.

Rick brushed his comment aside by explaining his plan. There were a few cops left, three of them who were cops in the past, including Rick, while the rest of them enlisted after the Wall was raised. Amateurs. Daryl asked if they knew how to shoot. Rick danced around the question, reiterating that he was comatose until recently and that Shane was the one in charge of training in his stead. An unsettling feeling set in Daryl's gut.

"This his plan?" Daryl asked, taking his perch on a brown police car. He stood tall, counting how many bolts he had left and how many walkers there were.

"Yeah," Rick acknowledged. "Snipe them down."

"Got more heads than rounds. Can't knock 'em all out from a distance. Besides, the sound will draw them our way."

Rick froze, staring at the large horde of walking corpses. Daryl could tell that Rick was developing a plan in his head, carrying it out, and evaluating the consequences. When a small smile emerged on the man's face, Daryl knew that Rick had an idea that just might work.

"We'll draw them away. Use our guns. Lead as much as we can out of there. We'll use the car so we don't end up running for our lives." Rick clenched his fists. "Why are you doing this? There's nothing to keep you here."

Daryl clenched his fist. "My brother's inside. My apartment's at stake. Andrea's missin'." Daryl took a deep breath. "Shotgun!" Daryl called, hopping off the car then into the passenger seat. Rick did the same, sticking the key into the ignition and starting it up. Leaning over, Daryl reached into the back seat and retrieved the shotgun on the backseat. He slid the pump, readying the weapon before nodding to Rick. "Let's do this shit."


	28. Somewhere to Return

Daryl ended up using a whole case, firing whenever a walker got too close. Rick, to attract the walkers, turned on the alarm system. It didn't work at first, drawing confusion from both men and the cops watching. Shane yelled from a window in Building Two, asking why the plan wasn't working. And then Daryl realized the damn sonic thing actually made a difference. He fiddled with the tool, flicking switches left and right until the light at the top finally turned off.

They drew at least thirty walkers away, leading them down the empty streets of the Borderlands, driving toward the Burbs. Rick drove slowly, to keep them just behind the car, but not slow enough for them to grab hold. After bringing the horde at a distance that seemed good enough, Rick stepped on the gas, drove circles around them, and zoomed off, driving back to the Domino Block.

When they arrived, Rick quickly tweaked with the wires under the dashboard, turning the alarm off. Daryl leaned out the window, aimed with his bow, and shot the closest walker in the head. With a large splat, the bolt penetrated the soggy flesh, jutting out at the other end. Daryl half-smiled when he heard the familiar crunch and splatter of decayed brains.

He quickly loaded his bow and shot another ambling figure. From somewhere behind him, Daryl heard Rick grunt loudly. Daryl called out, asking if Rick was okay, receiving a few half-assed reassurances. They quickly settled into a routine, fighting back to back when walkers came too close, with Daryl aiming for the fast ones, Rick handling the slower ones up close.

A symphony of bangs echoed in the alleys between the buildings as they fought their way overtop the fallen small mesh fence. Walker after walker fell, in the inner areas of the Block. Shane, still perched in the same spot they left him, was barking orders at another sniper, who was in another building. Daryl wasn't sure whether to scoff or smirk when he saw the person giving Shane a run for his money: Andrea.

He ended up smirking when he realized that Andrea was shouting out her kill count, which was slowly rising with each fallen corpse. Shane yelled for her to conserve her ammo, but she replied that she wasn't wasting anything. Daryl almost froze when he saw the shadow behind Andrea. He was about to call out to her, to warn her, when it turned out to be the old man. Daryl waved, receiving one back.

At one point, when the crowd thinned out, Andrea and Shane both joined them on the ground, slaying walkers without their guns. Half the time, Rick wanted to do something while Shane grumbled about it, mumbling that his plan was better. It was nearly sundown when most of the corpses were on the ground.

One of the newer cops barked out orders, shouting for the militia to come help. Six able-bodied men and four women came by. They divided into pairs and began lugging the bodies into one large pile outside the fallen fence. Someone poured a can of kerosene on the bodies before lighting the pile on fire. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. A bonfire of the dead.

Daryl flinched when he saw the hand come his way. "We stand guard," Rick said, clasping Daryl on the shoulder. To which, Daryl nodded shakily.

He moved far apart from Rick, standing alongside the fallen fence. Rick stood to his right, staring at Shane, who stood at another corner of the fence. Andrea waited by his left, finger itching on the trigger. The rest of the perimeter seemed to be watched by both cops and civilians.

Groans filled the air as darkness covered the sky, from aching bodies complaining of tiredness. Someone snapped at them, one of the cops perhaps, claiming that they needed to do their part. The cops had pulled together to slay all the outside walkers, so it was only fair that the rest of the civilians cleared out the land before they moved in. Andrea shot Daryl an amused look. Daryl shrugged.

When Rick began to pace around his area, Daryl saw that it was fit for him to do so as well. He ended up moving closer to Andrea, whispering when no one was around, "Dale alright?"

"Yeah," Andrea shook her head, sighing. "He's fine. Stupid, but fine." She marched, looking outward from the Block. "Just glad that we can easily blend in. They're letting us keep our apartment."

"See my brother?"

"Last I saw him he was cuffed to a bed," she said under her breath. "High off his rocker."

"Any idea who locked him up?"

"Yeah," Andrea nodded, quickly moving away from Daryl. In his peripherals, he saw Shane looking their way. "Mr. Sourwolf over there."

* * *

When all of the bodies were in the large pile, Rick and Shane divided themselves among the cops and civilians to scout the buildings, to see if anyone turned while inside. Daryl gruffly demanded that he lead one of the groups himself. Shane gave him a dirty look but Rick said that was fine.

Daryl led a ragtag group to his building, an amateur cop that was hired after Atlanta and its surrounding counties became Area S, a small but spry woman, and a small man with a lisp. Their weapons respectively: a semi-automatic handgun and a butcher knife, a rake, and brass knuckles and a machete. He sighed, telling them how he wanted things done. He ended his speech with, "Stick together, don't do shit on your own."

The first floor seemed to be clear. Moving down the hallway, he snaked his way over the fallen furniture to peek into each room. Since he had his bow, he partnered with the man with the lisp. The machete would be a good weapon up close. He sent the cop and the woman to the next room, pointing out that the cop should stand to the side with his blade for backup and that the woman could use her rake to stab them from a safe distance.

Daryl swept around the landlord's apartment, eyeing a few unopened cans that he would take later. There were no bodies there, dead or alive. He sighed and marched out, the man with the lisp behind him. From the next room over, the woman squealed in joy, claiming that she killed a walker. They moved onto the other two rooms. Daryl killed a walker there. The man with the lisp killed two with his machete.

As they marched up the stairs, the cop and the woman engaged in small talk. Daryl gritted his teeth, hushing them for the third time. Immediately, Daryl said that Room 201 was to be avoided. With luck, Merle was still there and still alive. He sent the chatty pair down to Carol's apartment while he scouted his own with the man with the lisp. There were drops of blood in the hallway, staining the walls and shoddy floors, so he told them to be on guard.

He was in the middle of checking how much of his secret stash in the hole in the wall was left when the man called out from Merle's room, "You look like you know this place."

"Mm," Daryl muttered. "It was mine."

"From before?" the man asked.

Daryl wasn't sure whether he meant from before the walkers or before the Block was taken over. But it didn't matter to him, so he said, "Yeah."

Before the man could finish checking under Merle's bed, Daryl rushed into his room. He shook his head at the stupid ass window that was always broken, the horrible mattress, and the pair of panties under the bed. He stood with his arms crossed, eyeing the mess with fondness on his face.

"It would be nice," the man said, probably eyeing the springy couch in disugst. "To have a place like this. We've always wanted one."

Daryl walked out of his room to find the man on a stool. "We?"

"We." That's when Daryl recognized him. The taller half of the gay couple nearby Rick's all those days ago.

The man was in the middle of some speech about raising his family with love and mush or something when Daryl interrupted, "Let's get a move on."

They took so long in there, that the cop and the woman took the initiative to check the last room in the hall, the one that belonged to Glenn's friend, Jim. So they continued upwards, checking the other rooms. They found residents, some who hid in their rooms while Clears scavenged their rooms. They found walkers and the cop almost got bit. But the man with the lisp knocked it over with his fist before slicing into its skull.

When they finished, Daryl thanked them for their efforts, telling them to move to another building. The cop saluted Daryl, stating his appreciation before running off with the woman to another building. The man with the lisp waved as he walked away.

Daryl took the opportunity to run back into the building. He took the stairs two at a time, lunging forward and upward. He grasped the knob of Room 201 and opened the door. There were drops of blood leading to the bedroom. "Merle!" he yelled. When he received no response, he moved faster, thinking the worst, running over the red splotches to find his brother lying on the ground in one piece, snoring silently with powder under his nose. Daryl sighed in relief and leaned back onto a wall. Panting heavily, he tipped his head back, suppressing a laugh, and then slid down the wall.

Everything, for once, was all right.

* * *

Daryl groaned when the broom he nicked from Room 201 fell over again. He was in the middle of tidying his room when he heard it black on the kitchen floor. With a resigned sigh, Daryl made his way into the kitchen where he avoided looking at the empty cupboards. He was cleaned out. Although he was unsure whether Carol or the Clears took the rest of his food. Brushing his worry aside, Daryl reminded himself that there were a few cans in his bag and Glenn probably had a few too. Glenn was going to arrive at any time now, to hopefully a clean apartment.

So he pressed on the couch's springs with his boots, trying to force them back down, to no avail. He groaned and focused on the rest of the things in the room. He picked up the upturned furniture, placing them back not where they were before his apartment was invaded, but where he thought they would look best. He sorted through Merle's room, shaking his head at the secret stash of drugs he found in the mattress. He finished every room, and then returned to his, fixing the sheets and propping the window closed with a broken table's leg.

Daryl sat on the bed, tired, exhausted, worn out, ready to fall asleep. But he willed himself to stay awake. So he did, waiting for Glenn to return. But he didn't hear that familiar knock all night. When he woke in the morning, he realized Glenn never came back.

* * *

Daryl closed the door behind him. He turned to lock it but remembered that his key was in his bag—which Glenn had. Grumbling to himself, Daryl turned to head down the stairs, only to be cut off by a greeting. Carol waved from her door, smiling brightly. She invited him in but he declined, which made her walk toward him, grasp his arm, and insist that he stayed for breakfast. When Sophia poked her head out the door, he sighed and let himself be dragged into their apartment.

Carl was there too, laughing, smiling. He sat on the floor, in front of a coffee table, across from his mother on the couch, who appeared to be at a loss on whether she should be laughing or scolding. Sophia led Carol to the table and sat beside Carl on the ground. Carol sat beside Lori, sinking into her leather couch—which seemed much better than his.

With crossed arms, Daryl stood awkwardly at the front door. He clenched his arms tighter when they realized he was still there. They coaxed him with gestures of come here, and join us. They were smiling at him. They were smiling.

Daryl froze when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. Turning his head, he saw that it was Rick, smiling at him as well. The cop, with an open warm, gestured for him to join them.

Daryl did.

* * *

Daryl mostly sat there, cross-legged, staring into his lap. He looked up every so often whenever Rick cracked a joke or when Lori whined about something. Carl and Sophia spent the time giggling with one another or whining whenever one of their parents told an embarrassing story about them.

He was almost thankful when Shane showed up and plopped himself onto one of Carol's stools. The conversations continued, but he didn't think that Carol noticed the change. Rick continued chattering happily, but Lori would often speak with short sentences and gave off forced laughs. It was then, he remembered that he had given Lori a pregnancy test. She didn't seem to be showing, but from the way she touched her stomach often, Daryl knew.

They shared a large breakfast. Rick had received a ton of donations in the form of canned and preserved foods from the Clears earlier this morning, in thanks for seizing the Domino Block. Daryl asked how Rick thought of this plan. But Rick denied it, giving praise to Shane for formulating the idea in his head. Shane took a swig of whiskey and passed it to Rick, telling him that he knew he was right, that he deserved credit for keeping his people safe. That Zoners were paying the price for not being courteous to share their apartments.

Hungry for more, Daryl reached for another can when the front door slammed open. Glenn appeared, ragged, out of breath. There was blood smeared across his face, his hands. His shirt was covered in splatters of red, his jeans dyed darker. He smelled of death. His face was full of worry. Within seconds, Daryl found himself in front of Glenn, asking what happened.

Glenn didn't answer. Well, he did, but with a question of his own. "Where's Andrea?"

* * *

Daryl stood outside in the hallway, trying to listen to Glenn's mumbling from the other side of the door. Glenn was inside with Andrea and Dale. When Daryl heard her begin to sob, he knew Glenn broke the news. She screamed, "No!" She sobbed, "Amy!"

Daryl waited, arms crossed for Glenn to come out the door. Eventually, the loud wails died down, turning into sniffles that Daryl could barely hear. It felt like hours passed before Glenn emerged.

Glenn's eyes were red, his face covered in trails of salt. Glenn wiped his face once more before he propelled himself, wrapping his arms around Daryl. Daryl stood there, unsure of where to put his hands, and patted Glenn on the shoulder.

* * *

Glenn immediately walked toward Daryl's couch, ignoring the gestures to go to the bedroom. He was in the middle of some explanation, that there were a bunch of walkers, and that he saw another runner who worked from another underboss nearby, just before Amy was bit. Sighing, he sat down on the hand rest. "I have to do this. I need to know. I have to go."

Daryl was fiddling with his bag silently. He pulled out the sonic and turned it back on. "Why?"

"Because. If they wanted to kill me—"

"Still on that?" Daryl interrupted, with crossed arms.

"I'm taking this," Glenn said, grabbing the sonic out of Daryl's hands. "I'll need it more than you."

"Oh." Daryl scratched the back of his head. "New run?" Glenn nodded. "Need backup?"

"No, you're staying put," Glenn said determinedly. There was a look on his face, one with a slight tinge of desperation, of fear. "You have to stay here."

"What? Why?" Daryl snarled. Daryl shook his head in disbelief. He closed his eyes, telling himself that this couldn't be happening again. But he remembered how crafty Glenn was, how he could handle is own out there. Daryl reassured himself with false hopes. "When you get bit, don't you come runnin' back to me, tail between your legs," Daryl mumbled.

"I'll come back," Glenn reassured him. "I promise." Glenn was about to turn to go but he stopped and stared Daryl down determinedly. "I'd never live with myself if I never did this."

"Did what?"

"I need to tell you something," Glenn said quickly. "Just in case."

"In case wha—?"

"You know, there are things that make you fight to come back," Glenn said, smiling at the ground. "Could be an object. A place. A person." When Glenn looked up, Daryl shot his eyes downward, bracing himself for the kid's sudden departure. Suddenly, Daryl was pulled into a tight embrace. He froze, stunned, his hands unsure of where to go but thankfully holding something soft in his hands, squeezed in between his and Glenn's chests. When Glenn turned, Daryl expected his eye to be poked by the brim of the kid's hat. But he wasn't. And just as quickly as it came, the warmth vanished. Daryl didn't look up, but when he felt the breath on his neck, he realized Glenn didn't leave. He felt something be pressed into his palm and his fingers curled around it. "I'm coming back for it, just so you know."

Glenn was gone by the time Daryl looked up. He turned his head and stared toward the Old City, watching the small shadow fade in the distance, with something clenched tightly in his hand. He snorted when he realized what it was—Glenn's silly red hat.


	29. That Familiar Knock

The first day went by quickly for Daryl. The morning consisted mostly of taking inventory of his supplies and watching over Merle. He had somehow lost two arrows in the past few days, bringing his total down to three. His pantry became more substantial after some donations from Rick, who forced food upon both Daryl and Andrea—Andrea, receiving more than half in condolence for Amy.

Merle's snores were louder than before. Daryl poked his head throughout the early hours of the day into Merle's room to take a peek at his brother, who, aside from his stomach moving up and down, never seemed to budge an inch.

Daryl milled about, sorting the cans by eating preference and which ones could be eaten cold. So Daryl spent a bit of time tallying how much food would be left if he rationed it. Throwing Merle into the equation shortened the days of food left and Daryl knew he would be out hunting soon. Venison was rare in the Zone since most of them had been hunted down in the early days of the walker takeover. Perhaps he could sneak into the Clear and snag a few rabbits. Squirrels might be less obvious. But then again, they had little meat on them.

He was in the middle of weighing the merits of bringing canned corn on his next job when three soft knocks came from the front door. With a great sigh, Daryl remembered he still needed to get a new peephole for his door. After he opened it, he was greeted by an unsure smile on Lori's face. Daryl furrowed his brow.

"Where's Rick?"

Lori shook her head, whispering. "Not here." She briskly stormed into the apartment and took off her bag, placing it on the first stool she saw.

"I came with your pay. For the test." Reaching into her bag, she pulled out something other than food. Daryl was surprised. "Sorry, I know the deal was a few cans of food, but I think I'll be needing them. But I won't be needing these."

Daryl reached out, taking two boxes of condoms from her. "Damn."

"Yeah, I know right. The world has ended and here I am popping out another one." Lori sighed, rubbing her palms on her jeans. She rocked back and forth on her feet, with a look that clearly asked for him to keep quiet about all of this.

"Does he know?" he asked.

Daryl had asked her two questions in one—if Rick knows about Shane, or if either of them knew she was pregnant. Lori shook her head, not affirming nor denying either. She thanked Daryl with a quick handshake before she left his apartment. She closed the door quietly and he didn't hear the floorboards creak as she walked, or probably tiptoed, away.

Resuming his chores, Daryl spent most of the afternoon readying his weapons. If he was to go hunting, his weapons needed to be ready. He cleaned his crossbow piece by piece, dismantling it while looking at the door every so often. He took a leak after he put it back together. He sharpened his blades with his whetstone. He tested their sharpness on an old shirt of Merle's. They cut well.

He was in the middle of picking the gunk off the bottom of his boots when he heard the knock from the door. Daryl got off the floor and moved for the door. He nodded at Sophia, who was holding a pile of folded clothes with outstretched arms. Dangling from her right hand was her doll.

"Hey, kid," he said, leaning against the doorframe. He crossed his arms and raised a brow.

She smiled shyly. "Mr. Dixon."

"You messin' around? Givin' your mother trouble?"

"No, Sir." She shook her head exaggeratedly. "I came here to give you these."

Daryl watched as she gestured for him to take the clothes. He took them, thanking her as he went back inside. What he didn't expect was for her to follow him. He turned around and found her there, standing, arms behind her back, rocking back and forth her toes.

"Need somethin'?"

"Yeah." Sophia nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Daryl shrugged. "But just 'cause you ask me don't mean I'll answer it."

She moved forward and looked up at him with the most expectant look on her face. He remembered how far she came from when he first saw her in the alley all those months ago, pushing a ball with a stick, bored out of her mind. He remembered the way she acted and wondered how they ever came this far.

"Did you hit him?" she asked.

Daryl smiled, telling her, "Sure did. I knocked him out."

And with that, she gave him a satisfied smile, walked to his kitchen, climbed up on a stool, took three cans of food, stuffed them into her doll, and walked out of his apartment.

* * *

Lunch was more of the same. Cleaning, waiting, inventory, Merle. It was a repetitious thing but Daryl had no idea what else to do. He ended up napping after he ate half a can of pork and beans. For some reason, he felt that his rest was going to be cut off short. So of course, there came a knock on his door. This time, however, came someone he didn't expect.

"Daryl." Dale greeted him with wide eyes and an annoying beard that was in need of a good trim.

"What do you want?" he snipped, arms crossed.

Dale's eyes moved back and forth, staring at Daryl, assessing his face. "May I?" Dale asked, but Daryl knew it was more of a statement than a question. He sighed and let Dale pass him by. The old man's goofy hat flopped up and down with each step. Daryl rolled his eyes. "How was the Old City?"

"Fucked up. I'm sure Andrea told you all about it." Daryl walked past Dale and made his way into the kitchen, where he was now sorting the cans by size.

"Not exactly," Dale denied. "She hasn't told me much at all."

"Listen, the less you know about it the better off you'll be," he said, shuffling the tins around. He moved a can of sardines forward because it was dented. Merle hasn't eaten yet.

"But don't you wonder? What'll happen when they run out of food?" Daryl shot him a look to see that familiar face, that stupid face of disbelief. "The only way they can go is out, out of the Old City, into the Burbs, and into here."

"You sayin' we're next on the menu?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying! We need to have a backup plan. Get ready to leave just in case. We're trapped inside the Wall!"

"So what? We get to choose where we get eaten? Inside or Zone or out of it? Don't sound like good options to me." Daryl closed the cupboard and faced the man, giving him a grave stare, "Look, we're already on the menu. To walkers. To humans. Hell, I'm sure one of the Clears will go crazy and gnaw on their neighbour the second they hear there's no more food left."

Dale pressed his lips thin. "So, are you in? Will you come with us when we leave?"

"If we get that far, I'll let you know. Why ask me?"

"Because of all you've done to help Amy and Andrea. How you gave Amy business, how you helped find her in the Old City, how you helped them come back to me. It feels weird," Dale babbled, making his way to the front door. "…To be needed. I never thought I would feel like this after my wife, well…"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah, weird."

"We're having a vigil, of sorts, more of a get-together really, in a few hours," Dale said, just as Daryl was about to close the door on him.

"For Amy?"

"Please come." Turning to face him, Dale gave him an expectant look. "And if you see Glenn, tell him to come too."

* * *

He knocked on the door to enter the gloomy apartment. People were milling about, chatting in hushed tones. In the back corner, he found Rick and Lori, the former with clenched fists, the latter with her palm on her face, shaking her head. Daryl wondered if she told him. To the side he found Shane brooding against a wall, with arms crossed, staring at the couple.

Carl and Sophia were on the couch, whispering into each other, leaning their entire bodies and cupping the other's ears with both palms. When Carl whispered too loudly, he received a hush from his mother, who said that it wasn't appropriate to be making jokes. When Sophia realized she was being watched, she waved at him with a small smile. Carl did too.

Dale was sitting on a chair, with a fond look on his face as he watched over Andrea, who was sitting slumped forward, with her hands clasped tightly together. Daryl could see the tears streaming down her face as she sniffled quietly, ignoring everyone around her. With a quick glance, Dale saw Daryl and nodded, acknowledging Daryl's presence. But a look of confusion spread across his face. Probably wondering where Glenn was.

He saw a Latin family chatting amongst themselves. He saw other people standing in a dark corner of the room. There were a few other people he didn't recognize. Other hunters, he assumed.

He found Carol in the kitchen, warming a small pot of tea over a small tropical-scented candle. She yanked the bag around by the string, letting the flavours diffuse into the water.

"Hey," he said, leaning on the counter. There was a small carton of eggs, with a handwritten note. It appeared to be from Maggie and the rest of her group, offering their condolences. There were different scrawls on the slip of paper, each describing how they knew Amy and how she helped keep them safe when they were in the Old City.

"Hey," Carol replied softly, dragging the bag through the water. It took him a while to realize she was talking to him. "Want some tea?"

"I'm good."

"Can't stop thinking about him, huh?" Carol chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. Daryl scoffed. "I can see it all over your face. You're not here."

"I'm right in front of you," Daryl retorted, gesturing to himself. "You blind?"

"You may be physically present, but you're not really here. You're worried," she prodded.

He crossed his arms and took a quick look at Rick and Lori, at Carl and Sophia, and at Dale and Andrea. Suddenly feeling winded, Daryl swung his view back to the pot, which began to simmer lightly above the candle.

"Do you know how?"

"Amy?" she asked, to make sure. Daryl nodded. "They were packing up her belongings when it happened. A bunch of walkers came their way. She got bit in the arm. Glenn had his back turned on them when he heard her scream. He was looking at some quiz in a magazine. He killed a few and managed to drag her away with Michonne's help. She— she turned shortly after."

"Did he—"

"They burned her after. She told them that's what she wanted. That's what Glenn told me anyway."

"Doesn't make sense," Daryl grumbled. "The Helm's in a clearing. Should've saw them comin' from miles away."

Carol looked up from the pot. "Think he lied?"

"Think he made a story up. To lessen the blow. Didn't tell me that but he didn't tell me much at all. No idea what he told her though," he gestured to Andrea. "Wouldn't talk to me about it."

"It's hard, when you lose someone you care about."

"Yeah," Daryl muttered, following Carol's hand as it moved back and forth. When she was done, she poured out a shot's worth of tea into a small mug and passed it to him. He took it, grumbling at how Glenn was stupid for going off on his own on another run, not letting anyone go with him. He was about to ask her where Michonne was. Since she was Amy's protector in the Old City, he assumed she would be here. But Carol cut him off before he even opened his mouth.

"Glenn. He lost two people in three days. I don't think he can lose another without feeling like he's lost everything."

* * *

After stumbling a long day searching for game and not finding any—aside from a half-eaten hare that he didn't think was wise to touch—he sliced a small incision to the wall opposite the foot of his bed. Tallies hung from the wall, three in all, with another that was fresh just joining them. With a great sigh, Daryl slumped his shoulders, sliding his bow's strap down his arm. He lowered it carefully to the ground beside his bed. He didn't bother getting out of his clothes before he crashed onto the crappy mattress.

Daryl jolted awake when he felt a dull pain in his side. Grumbling, Daryl clenched his fists and opened his eyes to find his brother's foot nudging his torso. "The hell do you want?" he mumbled, giving the stink eye to Merle.

With a smug grin, Merle chuckled. "Get up, Princess. Big brother Merle's gonna teach you how to hunt crazies."

Sitting up on the bed, Daryl blinked repeatedly. He rubbed the gunk out of his eye and found Merle's hand in front of his face. Merle made a joke about there being no need to cry so Daryl swatted the dirty palm away. Daryl could still see the marks on Merle's wrist. He had asked Merle who did it but Merle didn't know. "Some cop," was the best Merle could come up with at the time. The more Daryl asked, the less Merle seemed to remember.

Hunting crazies seemed to be the same thing as hunting walkers. Merle gave Daryl tips disguised as mocks and jeers at his character. Daryl rolled his eyes, wondering how things could remain so domestic. They killed a bunch of walkers together, Merle slashing many with a large buck knife. He didn't want to waste any of his rifle ammo when he could save them for real crazies.

They ate dinner together that night. Their chairs were pulled up to the counter, where the red cap sat, out in the open, not shoved in some drawer. Merle spent most of his time talking about trying to console Andrea. Make her feel better. "If you know what I mean," he had said.

When they finished, Merle returned to his room, snickering to himself that slicking up is a new sensation. Daryl sat, stroking the red hat, eyes intently on it as if it was going to disappear, ears open, listening for that familiar knock on the door, that familiar call.

But it never came.

Daryl trudged, back to his room, and crashed onto his mattress once more. He closed his eyes but could not fall or will himself asleep. He rolled on the bed, covering his face and ears with his thin pillow, trying to block out the haughty moans coming from the next room over.

* * *

Someone knocked on the door, three knocks in a row. Recognizing the rhythm, that familiar knock, Daryl shot straight up. He fixed his shirt, kicking empty cans to the sides of the apartment, moving them out of view. He rifled his hair with his fingers, mussing it up, making it look neat yet messy. He wiped his cheeks, taking in deep breaths, and slowly brought his hand to the knob.

Daryl wasn't surprised to see that it wasn't Glenn on the other side.

Rick stood in the hallway with an oversized bag with the word  _sheriff_  stitched on both sides. A few rifles were sticking out one side. Although he seemed stoic, Daryl could tell the man was upset. He nodded, asking Rick what was up. Rick explained that since Amy passed, Lori ended up taking over her stall, that she has jobs—new and old— if Daryl was interested. The Hunter's Helm apparently set up shop in the first building on the main level, each stall sharing apartments with the others, the ones that had more business and were able to pay larger dues got their own apartment. Daryl said he would check it out. He did, leaving his apartment shortly.

It was interesting, to say the least. Zombie Zone Express had the first apartment on the first floor. There were guards at the front door. He entered the space to find people milling about. Each room had been sectioned off, some for storage that he wasn't allowed to access, some for personal use. The living room had been sectioned off and seemed to be the main place to request supplies. Those in the kitchen made food and sold it for a profit.

He found Jacqui, who gave him a wave and a warm smile. He felt compelled to greet her so he walked up to her and asked how she was doing. Her smile melted, becoming weaker at the question. Daryl bit his lip, realizing what he had done—reminded her of Jim.

She spoke after exhaling one long breath. "I don't know. How about you?"

"No idea."

"It's weird. To be alone." She rambled with jaded eyes. "One can only go so long just surviving."

"Y-yeah." Daryl, not knowing what else to say, left. He wished her luck and said he'd come by for a job later, and insisted that he would check up on her sometime, that he'd return, that' he'd come back for her.

"Jim said that too."

"I'll come back. I promise," Daryl muttered. That's when it flashed in his mind, that's when he remembered: so did Glenn.

With tears welling in her eyes, she retorted by telling to avoid making promises he couldn't keep.


	30. Finding the Future

Daryl trudged toward the door, yawning groggily. It was the middle of the night and he knew with Rick's patrol, no one was able to get in or out of the Block without permission. The knocks had no rhythm and seemed to come and go sporadically. He opened it to find a nervous Andrea pacing outside his door. She rushed in as soon as he opened it and before he could open his mouth, she said Rick told her where he lived.

She stormed into the kitchen, opening the cupboards until she found two cups that were decent. It was then Daryl noticed she had a bottle of tequila with her. When he asked if Dale knew where she was, she poured him a shot and shoved it in his hands.

"To losing the ones we care about." She raised her glass.

With his brows furrowed, Daryl gave her a harsh glare. "There's still a chance."

"It's been over a week, Daryl."

He felt like something smacked him in the gut. "But Amy was gone for a month."

He was in the middle of staring at the floor when she began to whisper apologies. "I'm sorry. I should know better."

Daryl nodded stiffly. Avoiding her gaze, he tipped the cup up and swallowed the alcohol in one gulp. He licked his lips dry and pulled up a stool. They sat together and drank, Daryl facing the silly red hat at the end of the counter.

His voice was dry, hoarse. "He was a good kid."

"Hear, hear." Andrea poured them another round of shots.

* * *

If Glenn were alive, he would have returned. Daryl knew he shouldn't hold onto this hope. So he didn't. Instead, he held onto Glenn's hat, which he took with him, wherever he went, keeping it by his side as he slept. Carol unintentionally gave him pitying looks. Carl would tell him Glenn was a good guy. Merle—whenever he was around—just ignored its presence.

Daryl ended up taking jobs from both Lori and Jacqui. He smirked at the request for condoms, remembering the time he spent with Glenn on their first run. Most of the other jobs involved searching for lost loved ones. With luck, Daryl managed to find all of them. However, he found them either as aimless or rotting corpses.

He did many at the beginning, up to three a day, but he often found himself reminiscing about the good old days, when runs were simpler, when most people abided by laws that were no longer upheld by society. He found himself thinking about those runs with Glenn, the ones to the Old City. When the thoughts became too much to bear and their weight pressing down on his soul, he took less jobs, rationing his food. He and Merle shared the last chicken. He gave a chunk to Carol. Sophia shared a drumstick with Carl.

On one of the jobs, he found Theo—or T, as he preferred to be called—in an abandoned building in the Burbs. T was upset that Daryl moved in with the Clears, but was willing to return if he and his buddies were able to get a few rooms for themselves in the Block. Daryl said he'd ask Rick.

When helping Rick plot out ways to secure the Block from threats—walkers and living—he asked about getting an apartment for T. Rick wasn't sure, suggesting that many of the Clears may not like having to share what little resources they had left. Daryl argued that they were the ones who invaded the Borderlands and scared most of its inhabitants away. Rick supposed he could look into the situation.

On another job he encountered that woman. Michonne. She didn't seem like much of a talker when Daryl first met her, but this time, she had a lot to tell. Apparently, Amy wasn't bit at all, which didn't make any sense. Bites turned people. Dying from blood loss shouldn't have any effect. She had died from an attack from people from the Old City. A small scouting group had made their way through the Burbs and into the Borderlands in search of people to procure.

She said she went with Glenn to find some answers. She had her questions and Glenn had his. Michonne told him that they parted ways a few days ago. Daryl found himself being able to breathe more easily after hearing that.

"So he's alive?"

Michonne shrugged. "Last I saw him."

She then continued, explaining how they got stuck in a building overnight. There was a large number of walkers inside the building and the front door led to a pair of hunters that Michonne recognized from the Old City. Since she knew them, she thought she could distract them by throwing rocks. So Glenn devised a plan involving rope, a flashlight, and a few pebbles to distract the hunters. He drew a map on the ground and told Michonne to gather the supplies. And when she was in the kitchen, she heard the front door open. The last she thing she heard from Glenn was his blood-curdling screams.

* * *

Rick held a gathering the other day, a few days after Michonne came to the Block. To remember Glenn. He marched to Rick's apartment, in another building only to receive no response when he knocked on the door. He fiddled with Glenn's red hat, wondering if Rick was even on the other side. There was a large fuss coming from the alley, so Daryl marched to the end of the hallway and stared out the window. There was a large crowd of people surrounding Rick, moving in on him.

Daryl surged down the stairs, jumping down a few steps whenever he could. Loading his bow as he went, Daryl readied himself for a fight. He was in the middle of an alley when he spotted more people heading the same way, walking with solemn faces. Daryl growled and rushed headfirst toward the crowd in the alleys between the buildings.

But when he got there, he saw something he didn't expect. At the back of the crowd, he found a familiar face. Maggie turned and gave him a weak smile before returning to her original position to face Rick, who was standing on a podium, giving out a small speech of how Glenn found him and brought him back to his family. He then spoke of how Glenn found Carl and Sophia and how he brought them all back from the Old City safely.

It took him to understand what was going on, and when he did, he lowered his bow in awe. Daryl was surprised. There were at least fifty people there; many of them grouped together like families, many standing off to the side listening in. Daryl honed in on the podium, focusing himself to look straight with a stoic face.

When Rick got off the podium, many others took their turn, telling their tales of how Glenn helped them through hard times, how he saved their lives, how he gave them food when he didn't need to. They all waited patiently, listening to tales of all lengths and qualities. Shane went on the stage. Then Carol. Lori. Sophia and Carl. Andrea and Dale. A woman broke down in tears before she could even get a single word out. T. Maggie. Jacqui. Other hunters that Daryl recognized. The gay couple. A few children.

When Rick came back on the platform, Daryl realized he was clenching his jaw, his fists. His face was scrunched up and Daryl rubbed this forearm across his eyes. After, he realized Rick was looking straight at him, gesturing for him to come onto the stage. Daryl did, weaving through the crowd. He felt the eyes watch him as he went.

Reaching the podium, Daryl clasped Rick's hand. He gave him a firm shake before he stood on it. Daryl noticed the puzzled looks by many of the others, probably wondering how the guy who killed the underboss from Room 201 could be related to Glenn, good old Glenn. Good Glenn who was perfect in every way, who hoped for the best and did right by others, who helped those in need, who made others happy through jokes. A man who had less acknowledgement than he deserved. A man who loved, wanted to love, but probably never got the love he deserved.

Daryl coughed, clearing his throat. He opened his mouth only to croak. Daryl had no idea what to say and the people looked like they were growing impatient or angry so he just said the first thing that came to his mind, the truest thing he could say, "He was a good partner," and walked off the stage.

Daryl strode of out the alleys and back into his building, the sound of Rick thanking everyone and closing the ceremony fading in the background.

* * *

Daryl went to Jacqui only to find out that all the highest paying jobs had been taken. She said she wasn't able to stay at the stall at all times so she wasn't able to save them for Daryl, even though he became one of her best runners. "Almost as good as Glenn," she had said. Even the job procuring condoms was just taken this morning. She laughed quietly, reminding him that he kept his promise—that he came back. Daryl scowled, telling her that he was the only one who did.

At his door he waved at T, who seemed to have settled back in Block after speaking to Rick at Glenn's memorial. They found another apartment for T and his guard buddies to share. T gave Daryl a cheery smile, telling him to look on the bright side. Daryl retorted that there wasn't one.

Daryl looked up at the Domino Block and stared fondly at the stupid pile of bricks. Because at the end of the day, there's always one place people long to return. Daryl thought about what to say when Glenn returned. If he returned. 'Hey,' and 'Sup?' seemed the most appropriate. But somehow that didn't seem enough. It didn't feel right. No matter how many times Daryl practiced saying it.

Sure, Daryl isn't good with feelings or dealing with people. Hell, Daryl wasn't even sure if he could say those three words that were of the utmost necessity and had to appear in relationships sooner or later. He's heard other people say it—not to him, never to him—on the streets, on television, anywhere except that house in the Georgian backcountry, to their nearest and dearest. He was never comfortable with saying them. He wasn't sure if he ever had.

Daryl had to learn how to find the future, living life by himself. Sure, he'd done it before but not everything was different. Times have changed. He learned how to depend on others and have others depend on him. Losing someone you could depend on was no easy feat. Andrea may seem to have a strong face but he knew she was crumbling underneath—because he was doing the same.

Sometimes, he swore he could hear Glenn's voice in his head. That persistent incessant chatter about naïve hopes and pipedreams. It brought him joy yet haunted him.

"I've got the stuff!"

That was the call that Glenn used whenever he would knock on Room 201. Daryl sighed, remembering how Glenn would knock anxiously and shift around on his feet, waiting to be dragged inside. He was in the middle of heating a can of soup when he heard the rap from the other side of his door. The call that came from outside the apartment door resulted in an unexpected burst of warmth in Daryl's chest, that familiar knock.

Daryl froze, shaking his head. He was running scenarios, countless plots of how this would go in his mind. He was setting himself up for failure. He was setting himself up for a broken soul. Daryl held his breath and turned his head, staggering each and every inch, when he heard the frantic thumping coming from his front door once more.

Daryl opened the door to see a beaming Glenn who was out of breath, a Glenn that was covered in walker guts and dirt, and who knows what else. His eye was swollen and there were bruises on his arms. Daryl locked in on a small piece of grass stuck to Glenn's lip. He was smiling brightly, beaming from cheek to cheek. It was as if this was the first time Glenn returned to a place where someone was there for him.

"Didn't think you'd come back," Daryl said heavily, wondering if this was real. He felt as if someone punched him in his gut. He pinched himself. Hard. And he didn't wake up. This wasn't a dream. Daryl looked at Glenn in disbelief. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to knock the kid out or what. Daryl reached out punched him in the shoulder. Contact was made. Glenn mumbled about how that wasn't necessary.

It was ironic—that Daryl was able to breath while Glenn was out of breath. Glenn smiled, wiggling two packages on either side of his head, one a familiar box that came labelled as lubed and glow-in-the-dark, the other claiming maximum pleasure for both parties and an ease of entry. But that wasn't the only thing he was shaking. Glenn teased by shaking another package Daryl always kept his eye on.

Glenn smiled, shaking his head. "Me either."

"Find out why they want you dead?"

"No." A weird smile was on Glenn's face, one that Daryl couldn't decipher. "But one day I will."

"I'll be there," Daryl promised.

"Like a faithful sidekick."

"As if," Daryl scoffed. "I'm the hero of this story."

"This story isn't just yours." Glenn grinned. "It's mine too. It's ours. All of ours."

"Yeah." Daryl nodded, a small smile breaking out. He found that his hands were reaching out to Glenn, that his feet were moving, that he was closing the gap between them. "I guess it is."

Glenn finally dropped the packages for once, deeming them not as important as this thing between them, whatever it was, and strode towards Daryl. Their noses bumped, their cheeks flushed, their pupils shone with anticipation. Daryl reached out and grabbed Glenn by the waist, wrapping his arms around him tight, pulling him inside with a grin, a genuine fucking grin, one with no restraint whatsoever, the first one he's had in a long, long, time.

"I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back."

And even though the floorboards still creaked, the bedroom was smellier than it had ever been and the window in it was crap at closing properly, the shower's sterility was still questionable, the couch had more springs poking out of it than yesterday, and the front door was about to fall any day now, Daryl somehow knew it would be all right. Daryl knew that this was the first place he felt could be a place he could call his own, a place he could share with someone else, a place where he felt he truly belonged.

Daryl spoke, pausing between each sentence. "I need to tell you somethin'. Just in case."

He pressed Glenn's head into his shoulder, breathing in Glenn's scent, then stepped back. He put a finger under Glenn's chin and with the lightest touch raised Glenn's head. Daryl looked into a pair of expectant eyes, eyes that were searching his face for answers. And that's when Daryl realized there are only two words he needed to say to make Glenn understand—understand what he wants, whom he needs, and how he feels.

Daryl leaned forward and put his mouth against Glenn's and mumbled those two words, those two precious words that meant everything, against his lips.

"Welcome home."


	31. Epilogue - The Walking Dead

"What are we doin' today?" Daryl asked, strapping his bow to his back. He marched out of his bedroom to find Glenn rummaging over a pile of cans in the middle of the living room. Merle's snores were obnoxiously echoing in the hall. Daryl closed his door shut before he turned to find a calculating look on Glenn's face.

"Bringing food to a small orphanage." Glenn replied, surveying the food and drink he planned to take with them. It appeared that the piles had been sorted in terms of size. A closer look told Daryl that Glenn was indeed keeping his favourites.

"What's the pay?" Daryl moved behind Glenn and perched his chin on a shoulder.

Glenn dropped to his knees, making Daryl stumble slightly. It took him a second to regain his balance and when he did he crossed his arms. Glenn grabbed a few cans of Daryl's favourites and packed them neatly into his bag. "The satisfaction that comes along with helping people in need? Do it for the children? Prenatal vitamins for Lori?"

"Another free job, Glenn? We can't keep livin' like this."

Glenn smiled, leaning onto Daryl's arm. "Pretty please with a blowjob on top?"

Daryl smirked, wrapping his arms around Glenn's waist. "With you on top and you've got a deal."

"Really?" Glenn beamed with joy. "It's been a while since I've—"

"I was thinkin'," Daryl interrupted. "More like I'm the pole and you the stripper goin' up and down it."

The days passed quickly, quicker than he expected them to. This was never the life Daryl envisioned. He always thought he would one day get away from this place, find a wife, and start a family. Instead, he often woke up with a cheeky Korean boy drooling insane amounts of saliva on his chest or from his older brother shouting for them to keep it quiet from down the hall. And Merle, well, Merle didn't give a damn as long as he was well fed and had a girl around his arm. Merle supposed that this was Hell and that they should make the most of it while they were here. That didn't stop him from calling Daryl a faggot though. Although he did seem to warm up to Glenn for reasons beyond Daryl's understanding.

Daryl stopped taking other jobs at Fishin' for Gold. He often accepted runs from Jacqui at Zombie Zone Express, sometimes working with Glenn, sometimes with other runners. When he wasn't with Glenn, he was scrutinizing every backup assigned to him. Glenn pouted, claiming that Daryl knew better, that he could take care of himself—but let Daryl do it anyways, snickering at the ridiculous threats Daryl spouted if they didn't bring Glenn back alive in one piece.

It was on this very run when Daryl nodded towards Glenn, smiling for the first time without any restraint, knowing he had something good, knowing this was probably one of the happiest moments of his life. Glenn grinned back, as if he was accepting a promise Daryl proposed, and slammed his machete deep into a walker's head.

This was the very moment when Daryl realized that he wasn't like everyone else, that he wasn't some aimless corpse, that he wasn't the walking dead. Sure, times have changed. He was paying the price for his actions and was starving for work. But he no longer lived behind closed doors and finally, for his heart, let those walls fall down. And after taking some action and making hard decisions, looking for answers, he realized not all hope's lost, that life was worth fighting for.

Another sad day could come along, but Daryl knew he'd be all right. Because he wasn't alone. He had someone to guide, someone who led him, someone who he taught, someone who he learned from. Home wasn't somewhere to return; home wasn't in the Old City nor the Domino Block. Home was not just an apartment but what, where, and whom, Daryl chose it to be—not a place, but his family; the people he loved, the people who loved him.

He didn't need to read between the lines, he knew that Glenn was just like him, another survivor in a world like this looking to live on and find meaning in the madness. But it was this little sacrifice, one of himself, where he shared his world with Glenn that made him feel like never before. They shared their scars in moments of silence. They shared looks. They shared touches. They shared their warmth. That familiar knock on his heart—it was an unfamiliar feeling, this burning desire, this strange feeling in his gut, that made him want to spend his life finding the future with Glenn. Whatever it was, Daryl was hungry for more. He didn't want to stop yearning and gaining those feelings of joy that filled his gut, and well, his heart.

But for now, he was content. Satisfied. Not only with his life and where it was headed, but most importantly, with himself. He realized that he already had reasons to live, and some new ones to keep him going. So he decided he would what he could, to help those who couldn't help themselves, to survive the dead and the living, to learn how to live and how to love, to help that silly optimism survive. And hell, he had somehow acquired some naïve hope that one day everything will be all right. That one day, they'll be in the clear.

And so, Daryl lived on for the next few months, helping Glenn do what he does best, delivering packages in Zombie Zone, Area S.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this wonderful journey with me and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much—no, more than I have writing it! Thank you to everyone for the comments, kudos, and follows because that helped me push through to see this story to the end. 
> 
> A special thank you to MRP who read this in its entirety and gave me feedback.
> 
> And yes, to those of you who caught on, Packages in Zombie Zone, Area S = PIZZAS.
> 
> Mad Arid out!


End file.
